Season 8
by Taaroko
Summary: Concurrent with Angel S5, set in Cleveland, standard 22 episode format. *Cue theme song.* Main characters: Buffy, Xander, Willow, Dawn, Giles, Oz. Big bad, action, angst, friendship, love, humor, discovery, death. Enjoy and please review! T for violence.
1. 8x01: The Wolf

This ridiculously long and time-consuming to write fanfic was born out of a desire to tie up the loose ends of both shows, so there will be the occasional crossover with _Angel_. Naturally, it was also born out of a desire to end things on my terms, at least in my own imagination, and I suppose for whoever else wants to join me on the ride.

Now, Oz is one of my favorite characters of the entire Buffyverse, so, since he wasn't killed off, I'm bringing him back to rejoin the main titles cast. However, since we also haven't heard from him for three seasons, I took this first episode to fill in the blanks and set up the setting for the whole season. This is, by the way, a proper, twenty-two episode season, complete with big bad, big love, battles, angst, humor, discovery, and death. Please let me know if I'm getting it right in the form of reviews.

Now, obviously, this is not the official Season 8. That would be the comic. Which, yay for continued Buffyverse stuff, but frankly, I don't like it (though I pretty much adore Jo Chen's cover art). All Buffyverse characters, lore, backstory, and especially the dialogue in this opening scene here (which will probably be my only direct episode quote scene) belong to Joss Whedon. This story, fun bonus characters like Alex, Cole, Lorin, and others to come, are mine. Enjoy!

**As of April, 2011**, having just finished another marathon rewatch of the entire series and with a couple more years of writing experience and English major-ness under my belt, I'm going through this again and editing where I feel it's needed. Hopefully this will help streamline it all and give me an inspirational boost to help me finish the last few episodes of "Season 9" in top form.

* * *

Episode 1: The Wolf

†

Thursday, May 18, 2000

_"I missed you, Oz. I wrote you so many letters, but I didn't have any place to send them, you know?" Willow paused, and when she began again, her voice shook slightly, "I couldn't live like that..."_

_"It was stupid to think that you'd just be waiting," said Oz. He hated himself for what he had put her through when he left, for being selfish enough to think she would have kept that spot in her life vacant for him, and especially because he already knew what he would have to do next, and that it would re-open the wounds they both had. He tried to convince himself that nothing else mattered as long as she was happy. Tried not to let overwhelming jealousy ruin this._

_"I _was_ waiting," Willow objected earnestly, "I feel like, some part of me will always be waiting for you. Like, if I'm old and blue-haired, and I turn the corner in Istanbul and there you are, I won't be surprised." _

_He let out a small, sad chuckle. _

_"'Cause," she continued, "you're with me, you know?"_

_"I know," he said. Just like she was with him. Always. He was slightly surprised to hear his own voice cracking as he went on. "Right now is not that time, I guess."_

_"No," she said sadly. "What are you going to do?" she asked hesitantly._

_"I think I better take off," he said, almost whispering. His chest felt tight. He saw her eyes sparkling with tears._

_"When?" she asked, her lips trembling despite her best efforts._

_"Pretty much now," he said. There was no point making this harder by dragging it out, even though it was already impossibly hard._

_Willow looked down and nodded, trying to keep a brave face, but failing. Oz instinctively leaned towards her. She met him halfway and they held each other tightly for a long moment, both reluctant to let go. He turned his head so he could smell her hair, clinging to her, wanting to permanently etch every detail of her into his mind. He felt her chest heaving against his in silent sobs. When they pulled apart, they simply looked into each other's eyes, both now tear-streaked, until, with a watery smile, Willow got out of the van and began to walk slowly towards Fischer Hall, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, as though she feared she would fall apart if she didn't._

_For Oz, there was nothing left to hold together. His whole torso was gone again. He waited until she was no longer in sight before starting the van. He inhaled deeply. Willow's scent was still so strong. He breathed each lungful of it slowly, savoring the scent that was sweeter to him than any other, and began to drive. He had no idea where he was going except that it would be away from Willow._

_Something inside him had broken. All those months of careful training and meditation, and he had still missed something. He didn't know how, but he had to fix it. He tried to convince himself that it would be for Willow, that somehow if he succeeded, they could be—but deep down, he already knew that he was never going back to Sunnydale._

†

Oz had vague memories of all the state signs he had passed. Nevada. Utah. Colorado. Nebraska. Iowa. Illinois. Indiana. Ohio. Ohio...that's where he was now. Distance and time had all passed rather fuzzily as he simply drove and drove, only pausing for gas, not caring where he would end up, not yet wanting to stop. He was afraid that if he stopped too soon, his resolve would crumble and send him straight back to California. He wasn't sure if he had eaten anything since he left. It was hard to tell. Eventually, he found himself entering the city limits of Cleveland. The phrase "Rock and Roll Hall of Fame" flashed dimly through his mind.

He didn't particularly want to stop here, but his van, which clearly did not appreciate its second long-distance journey in less than a week, had other ideas. It had begun to make horrible repeating clunking thud noises. Oz tried to ignore it, which would already have been a challenge if the noise had not then changed to a loud, shrill screech. Conveniently, that happened just as he passed a place called Erie Auto Repair, so, before the van could do anything worse, he turned around and pulled into one of the three empty garages, he hopped out, and looked around for a mechanic. Though he couldn't see anyone, he did hear the unmistakable sound of drums and an electric bass, which he followed, intrigued, into a separate room.

Inside it, he found two people. One was a tall, thin boy who looked about Oz's age. He had dark brown hair that fell almost into his eyes, and wore glasses, a plain black t-shirt, and heavily grease-stained jeans. He was playing the bass. The other was a girl who looked a few years younger. She was on the drums. Oz was intrigued by the statement she made with her appearance. Two clumps of her black hair were pulled up in pig-tails, while the rest hung loose at chin-length, including bright green dyed bangs, which matched her sleeveless, hooded green shirt. Her arms were covered in fishnets, and she wore black fingerless gloves, baggy black jeans, and heavy black boots. She hammered on the drums with reckless abandon. It sounded incredible. The two of them noticed his presence after a moment, and silence fell.

"Nice going, Cole," said the girl. "Reg won't be happy if he hears you made another customer wait—"

"'Come practice with me, nobody's going to show up,' you said," Cole replied dryly.

"Oh, hey, it's no problem," said Oz, "That's some serious sound you've got going on."

"You play?" asked Cole.

"Yeah," said Oz. "Guitar."

"Hey, cool," said the girl. "We're trying to form a band, but it's just us two so far, and neither of us can sing, so that doesn't work." She had been twirling the drumsticks between her fingers through the entire conversation.

"Well, I definitely don't sing," said Oz, "And I don't think I'm staying in town long." He paused. His ability to function depended on two things: Willow and music. The former might be out of reach, but there was absolutely no logic in depriving himself of the latter as well. "Or I might," he amended. "Either way, my van has issues."

"All right, then, let's go find the problem," said Cole, carefully propping his bass in a corner before picking up a red toolbox and following Oz to the van. "So, what're the symptoms?" he asked.

"Well, about ten minutes ago, it started making this weird rattling clunk sound, and when that stopped, it started...shrieking."

"Okay, let's take a look," said Cole.

Oz tossed him the keys, and he popped the hood. As Oz watched him poking around, the girl came up behind him.

"So, you guys serious about the band thing?" he asked her.

"Definitely!" she said.

"Awesome. And I got that he's Cole, but—" he began, only for her to cut him off in magnificent Italian, complete with the elaborate gestures.

"Ah, perdonate! Ch'iamo Alexandria Giovanna Maria Romano!" She then switched with alarming abruptness back to completely accent-free English, and added, "But seriously, man, call me Alex."

"Nice. _Very_ subtle way of trying to get him to ask about your heritage," said Cole dryly without looking up from what he was doing. Alex made a face in his direction.

"I'm gonna go with Italian," said Oz.

"Good guess," said Cole as he dug around in his toolbox for something, and went back to work under the hood.

"As long as we're doing the name thing, I'm Oz. Also, I've sorta been out of it. Is there a college here, that would be relatively easy to get accepted to? Had some issues with a...highly fragmented freshman year."

"Well, I'm just finishing my sophomore year at East High," said Alex in a tone of irritation, "but Cole goes to Cleveland State."

"Yeah. If you're interested, you shouldn't have much trouble enrolling," said Cole. He walked over to a room next to their makeshift practice room, and returned holding a long rubber belt and something Oz couldn't identify. "I'm guessing you're new in town?"

"Entered the city limits twenty minutes ago," said Oz.

"Record-breaking new, then," Alex observed.

"Know anyone here?" asked Cole.

"Well, as of now, the two of you," said Oz.

"Ah," Cole responded in a slight grunt as he twisted hard on something. He emerged, holding broken versions of the objects he had just put in, and shut the hood with an air of satisfaction. "Need a place to stay? James is transferring out of state, so his room's yours if you want it."

"Sounds good," said Oz. One less thing to worry about, then.

"Awesome. Really wasn't looking forward to paying the whole rent once he left," said Cole. He patted the van's hood. "Well, you can start her up. The idler pulley just seized up and burned through the serpentine belt."

"That was my first guess," said Oz.

Cole snorted. "Sorry," he said, "that was mechanic-speak for 'it sounded a lot worse than it was, but it's fine now.' And, if you want to hook up your guitar, you might play yourself a discount." He faltered, then said with an uneasy laugh, "Just, uh, don't tell my boss about it."

For a week that had included some of the worst experiences of his life, from losing control to being poked and prodded by creepy men in lab coats to leaving Willow, things were now turning out better than Oz could have hoped, lack of torso notwithstanding. Maybe he was supposed to be here after all.

Oz gently retrieved his red guitar from the back of the van and followed Alex. She indicated the unused amplifier where he could plug it in, which he did.

"Alright! Let's hear it," she said. Cole stood next to her to watch.

"You got it," said Oz. He hesitated for a moment. He had almost begun to play "She Knows", but that was Willow's song, and there was no way he'd be able to get through that this soon. It might have even triggered a transformation, and Oz felt that would have rather ruined the audition. Instead, with an ironic smirk, he began to play "Pain". He almost missed a chord when he looked up and saw that Alex had her eyes closed, her face contorted into an almost violent expression, miming drumming in mid-air. Cole seemed to be used to this. He was nodding his head in time to Oz's guitar. Oz finished, and gave a small bow.

"Good stuff," said Alex approvingly.

"Wanna practice with us sometime?" asked Cole.

"Sure," said Oz. "But right now I think there's someone else with car trouble."

"I'll just go act like I actually work here, then," said Cole.

†

Tuesday, July 25, 2000

"Okay, say again what you did to your car," said Cole, frowning down at the hopeless mess of metal that had somehow made it all the way to the shop without a tow-truck.

"Look, man, I just got out o' the airport. I'm still right banjanxed from the flight, an' some great dolt in an old truck hits me, head on," the owner of the scrap heap complained in a heavy brogue. "An' nothin' even 'appened to the truck!"

"Irish, huh?" asked Oz as he helped Alex load their instruments into the van. Reg had finally realized the proportion of auto repairing to alternative rock going on in his shop, which had swung dramatically towards the latter ever since the arrival of Oz. He had then told Cole rather loudly that he didn't care how good a mechanic he was; either he took the music elsewhere, or he was fired. Elsewhere it would be.

"That I am," said the Irishman proudly. "Me name's Lorin Anderson. Came 'ere fer school. I started back in Dublin, but I was getting' a bit sick o' the 'omeland."

Alex stared at him in disbelief as she deposited one of the amps into the van.

"Anyone in Ireland explain to you that we drive on the right side of the road here?" asked Cole, managing with some difficulty not to smirk as he continued to analyze what was left of the car. The left rear tire looked salvageable, but that was about all he could say for it. He was amazed that Lorin himself was so unharmed.

"Ah, that'd explain it, then," said Lorin, running his fingers through his shaggy black hair before letting it fall back into his eyes. "Though I did run that stop sign right before the crash."

"Yeah, you'll want to stay on the right side of the road from now on," said Cole.

"And watch out for those illogical stop signs," said Oz.

"Aha!" exclaimed Alex, making the Lorin jump. "Band name!"

"What? You lot're in a band, are ye?" Lorin asked, recovering.

"Sort of," said Oz, as he closed the back doors of the van, just having secured Alex's drums.

"Need a singer," said Alex.

"That so?" asked Lorin. "Well, 'ow'd ye feel about an imported one? I've got some decent pipes, m'self." He looked around at the three of them hopefully.

"Just promise to learn how to drive American style first," said Cole. "This thing," he pointed to the car, "is scrap metal."

"Ah, no worries. I've got a motorbike."

"You sure that's a good idea?" asked Oz, nodding at the car. "I mean, we were kinda hoping the singer would last a while."

Lorin laughed. "Well, now I know which side o' the road to be drivin' on, 'opefully I've got a good long while to go!"

"Good to know!" said Alex, looking as though she was resisting the urge to edge away from him. "Uh...Cole? Where exactly do we set up now? And it can't be my garage or basement, by the way. The opera crap Mom's always got playing might be distracting."

"I've been asking around," said Cole, "there's a club a few blocks away. The manager said we could set up and practice over there, even if we didn't have a singer. They don't get a lot of bands...he was kinda desperate."

"Nice," said Oz.

"I thought so," agreed Cole.

"Well, cool! We can go unload there, and see if Ireland here is any good," said Alex. She turned to Lorin. "You don't have anything going on this afternoon, do you?"

"Nothin'," he said, "woulda needed to find a place to stay, but I got a spot in the dorms."

"Good luck with that," said Cole, shuddering at the idea of dorms.

"Anythin's better than me old dorm. Trust me," said Lorin darkly.

†

Thursday, February 8, 2001

Oz leaned back from his desk, stretching the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. So much for Music Theory being a major that required no effort. He looked wearily down at his completed ten-page essay on the Baroque style. At least he was done with it, and hadn't even had to stay up past midnight! This might have been a source of pride, if Oz cared at all. At that moment, Cole poked his head through the open doorway.

"Hey, Alex and I are going with Lorin and his girlfriend to see if anything good is playing at the theater. Wanna come?" he asked.

"Thanks," said Oz, "But I think I'll just hang here."

"Okay, then," said Cole, "See you later." And he left. That was one thing Oz liked about Cole. He never tried to get him to come out of his shell, and he minded his own business. Oz stood, the legs of his chair snagging a little in the tough carpet as they raked backward across it. He winced, and put a hand to his stomach. The run-in with a lone vampire the night before had left him a bit battle-scarred, but at least the vamp was dust. He lifted his shirt and examined the place where the vampire had slashed him with the jagged piece of wood, which Oz had then grabbed and used against it as a stake. The wound wasn't deep, but it ran all the way across his stomach, and still stung whenever he moved.

He thought of calling Giles. He would have to call him about this. The very night after Illogical Stop Sign had played its first gig as an official band, Oz had run across a group of demons. He hadn't dared try to fight them; there were enough that he doubted whether Buffy would even have tackled them alone, but he had watched them closely, and upon returning to the apartment, called Giles before he could rationalize himself out of it. Once the former Watcher had recovered from the initial shock of hearing from Oz after months of his absence, Oz related his account of the demons he had seen. Giles had warned him not to try fighting them on his own, and informed him that such an occurrence would probably be fairly commonplace, as Cleveland was also on a Hellmouth. Oz had then taken a moment to appreciate the irony of the situation, and told Giles he would call again the next time he saw something.

With a sigh, Oz sat on his bed, picked up the phone, and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Giles," said Oz.

"Oz! Oh dear, I do hope it's not dire," said Giles, sounding as weary as Oz felt.

"No, just a vamp," said Oz. "Which is dust."

"Good. Because I've got a rather full plate here."

"What's up?"

"Oh, well, in short, Dawn is actually a mystical key that unlocks portals to other dimensions, a deranged, psychopathic hell-god is searching for her and causing no end of chaos, and Spike is in love with Buffy," said Giles resignedly.

"That all?" said Oz lightly, inwardly relieved that the Cleveland Hellmouth wasn't quite so active at the moment.

"Thank you for calling, and please keep me informed if anything else happens, but if that's all, I really need to be off," said Giles.

"Yeah, that's it. Good luck with that uh, hell-god, and...Spike's hormones," said Oz.

"I'm afraid we're going to need it." They both said goodbye, and hung up. Oz looked over at the clock. Only seven-thirty. He looked out the eastward-facing window on the other side of his bed at the full moon, which had just risen. Looking at it made him feel weirdly tingly, and the longer he stared, the more he felt like something monstrous was struggling to get out of him. He forced it back with grim resolve and began his daily round of meditation. So far, he had made no progress beyond what he _thought_ he had achieved when he returned to Sunnydale, but he wasn't about to stop trying.

He had trained himself carefully not to think too often of Willow, as that invariably seemed to drive the wolf crazy, but it was always harder to avoid after contacting Giles, and the full moon wasn't helping. The wolf had only gotten out once since he moved to Cleveland, and he had managed to repress it before it did any damage, but all too often, he felt it prowling inside of him, looking for a weakness—a crack in his defenses through which it could burst out of his skin.

†

Wednesday, August 21, 2002

"I think we've got it down, guys," said Cole smugly.

Lorin grinned his agreement, bumping his fist against Cole's.

"We are _so_ playing that one at our next gig," said Alex. They had just finished practicing "She Knows", which Oz had shared with them a week before. Cole suspected Oz had known that song for a long time, but that it was connected to something painful from his Sunnydale past, about which they still knew virtually nothing. Lorin's accent, in Oz's opinion, added an interesting new twist to the song he had originally written for Devon's voice. He liked it. A certain amount of residual pride for his old band (as well as a desire not to risk a copyright debacle) meant that the song would never be released in an album by Illogical Stop Sign, but merely playing it crossed no musical territory lines.

Little did the rest of the band know Oz's reason for finally teaching them the song, though Cole's guess was closest. After nearly two and a half years, his meditations and the whole Zen thing, and even a fair amount of Tai Chi, were still yielding very little progress. Giles had called just before summer break to inform him of recent events, most of which concerned Willow. Knowledge of her grief and what it had made of her had set off the wolf like nothing ever had, and Oz had only managed to resurface a whole day later. To his overwhelming relief, no reports of mangled bodies or wild dog attacks had appeared in any of the many papers he had frantically searched afterwards, nor on any of the local news stations, though several signs requesting information about missing pets had been seen in neighborhoods near Oz's apartment for the next few weeks.

The wolf's success at overpowering him had at least had one good effect, however. Oz had come to the unpleasant realization that everything he had been doing was only trapping the wolf, making it restless and ever-more ferocious. This past summer, therefore, he had tried a different angle. Rather than bluntly suppressing the wolf, he sought to understand it. This meant he had begun to indulge himself, cautiously, in the things that he knew brought it out, such as thinking more freely about Willow. He was able to achieve a wistful sort of happiness through his memories of her, and sincerely hoping that she would be able to recover from what had happened. To his relief and slight surprise, his new strategy had, thus far, been quite effective, as not even playing "She Knows", which was more inextricably linked to Willow in Oz's mind than anything else, had provoked the reappearance of the wolf.

Or, not entirely. The wolf hadn't come out...exactly. Since he had first played the song for Alex, Cole, and Lorin, Oz began to notice a few not-so-subtle changes. Things that shouldn't be happening, like overhearing snatches of conversations in the apartments surrounding his. That had only ever happened in the feverish moments before the wolf overwhelmed him in the past, or near the full moon, back when that had mattered. Never full-time. He also found himself able to easily distinguish the separate individual scents of everyone he came across, which sometimes trailed where they had been and over things they had handled for the past day, or longer. The only person whose scent he had been able to recognize before this was Willow, but now it seemed to apply to the general population. He had even managed to track down a vampire that way, somehow knowing by the strength of the fittingly dead scent that it would be alone when he caught up with it. He had come away from the fight, which had been briefer than most, unscathed, leaving his enemy a harmless heap of ash. It was as though the wolf had become his ally.

"When's our next gig?" asked Oz.

"Saturday, I think," said Lorin. "I'll see you guys later. Got a date with Sam," he said, his smugness almost tangible as he left the building.

"I can't believe that nutcase has held on to a girl for this long," said Alex, shaking her head. "And she _seemed_ normal enough when we doubled with them, didn't she, Cole?"

"Yeah," said Cole, "Maybe it's just the luck of the Irish working for him."

"That would explain it," said Oz.

"Might also explain how he comes off his monthly car accident without a scratch," said Alex.

"If you can call totaling five cars in two years luck," said Cole, who had long since given up attempting to explain American driving to their eccentric lead singer. "I'm surprised the insurance company hasn't sent a hit man after him by now."

"I think I'm gonna head home," said Oz, looking over at the faint glow of the setting sun filtering in through the windows. "You two need a ride?"

"Nah, we're gonna practice a little longer, and then go across the street to the café to study a while for the Psych test," said Cole, smirking at Alex, who groaned.

"I can't believe Professor Brown is giving us a test this soon," she grumbled, banging her head down on one of her drums with a hollow thunk. She had just started her freshman year at Cleveland State, and the one class she managed to share with Cole, who was still only a junior (for he, like Oz, had taken an unnecessarily laid-back approach to higher education), was Psychology 201.

"Good luck with that," said Oz, and headed out to the van, which was parked in its usual place in the alley between the club and a neighboring bookshop. As Oz turned the keys in the door, he glanced over at the brilliant sunset, just as the last sliver of red-orange sank below the horizon. Without warning, his whole body went rigid.

_Oh, no.._., he thought, trying to hold back what was coming, but it would not be beaten down. He fell to his knees and grunted in pain as his bones shifted, his mouth and nose extending outward into a snout, hands and feet reshaping into clawed paws, while thick gray and brown fur sprouted all over his body. And then it was over.

Oz stared down at his paws, bewildered. He was still there. Still Oz. He soon became aware of how very uncomfortable it was to still be wearing clothes in this form, especially as his newly grown tail did not at all agree with pants. Unceremoniously, therefore, he tore his clothes off with his long, sharp teeth, leaving them in a tattered heap by the driver's side door of the van.

_Well, this is a new experience,_ he thought. He leapt lightly onto the hood of the van and examined the faint reflection in the windshield. _And one I could get used to._ Looking back at him from the glass was not the hellish beast he had seen in the pictures Giles had shown him four and a half years before when he had explained to him the finer details of lycanthropy. No; Oz was now looking into the face of a wolf resembling those he had seen on National Geographic programs, albeit somewhat larger.

"Huh," he said interestedly, but it came out as an odd sort of growl. As he stared at his reflection, fascinated, he noticed that color had all but faded from his vision. The vibrant hues of the western sky now appeared muted and gray. His ears twitched as he picked up the sounds of Cole and Alex resuming their practice of the song. He jumped back down to the grubby pavement. Spotting the sad pile of his shredded clothes, he picked them up in his mouth and deposited them behind the dumpster. While the van shouldn't be too difficult to explain later, the clothes might have led to awkward questions.

Oz wrinkled his nose, which was now being assaulted by all manner of unpleasant alley smells. He padded around the back of the club, away from the street full of passing cars—but more importantly, away from the overpowering smell of dumpster. Though the alley had been lit by the remnants of daylight, this gap was much darker—but that was less of a problem for Oz's new black-and-white night vision. As he wended his way aimlessly between the crates packed into the narrow space, a new smell grew into dominance, even over the assorted contents of the crates. It was weirdly chalky, somehow, and he didn't recognize it. Whatever it was, it caused the fur to bristle on the back of his neck. He continued along the narrow gap between the back of the club and the building behind it, the smell growing steadily stronger. Then, there was a noise—almost too faint even for his keen hearing to detect. The squeak of leather shoes a few yards ahead, and the soft rustling of cloth. Someone else was back here among the crates. Apprehension-tinged curiosity pulled Oz towards the source of the noise and chalky smell. His paws made no sound on the dirty concrete as he crept on, past the back door of the club.

As he cautiously poked his head around yet another stack of crates, he could clearly distinguish two cloaked figures within the deepening shadows. There was no question that they were what had caused the sound, as Oz saw the leather shoes beneath the cloaks, and the horrid smell was definitely coming from them. All Oz knew was that, though they were human-shaped, they were far less human than he was. What were these things doing behind a club? One suddenly turned and looked directly at Oz. Or, it would have, had its eyes not been grotesquely sewn over with thick black stitching. Oz recoiled in horror. The second figure also turned, revealing similar disfiguration where eyes should have been. From beneath the cloaks, both simultaneously withdrew long, jeweled, curved daggers and advanced on Oz.

In a split second, he made up his mind. Normally, he would have retreated, preferring not to risk a fight with two unidentifiable malignant creatures bearing sharp weapons. Not this time. A loud, snarling growl escaped his throat as he launched himself at the closer of the two before it could react with the dagger. The force of his impact sent it bowling over into its fellow. Trying not to think about what he was doing, but only to concentrate on the fact that these things would definitely kill him if they could, he sank his teeth into the throat of the violently struggling form he still had pinned, closed his powerful jaws, and twisted. He heard the sickening snap of the thing's neck breaking, and it lay still.

Before Oz could do anything other than feel intensely revolted, a sharp pain lanced across the top of his head—the second creature had recovered from its fall. His fur seemed to have stopped the worst of the blow, and he leapt back to avoid a second swishing attack from the jeweled dagger. Oz crouched, snarling at the remaining cloaked figure. Without warning, it kicked out at him, knocking his head around with the force of the blow. Oz staggered back, dazed, whimpering slightly, blinking and trying to recover from the pain shooting from his muzzle. Trickles of hot blood now leaked from his nose and ran through the short fur of his upper lip.

Instead of taking advantage of Oz's temporary incapacitation to attack him again, the cloaked figure had sidestepped him, and headed for the back door of the club. Through which Oz could still hear the sounds of Cole and Alex, who were currently in the middle of the second verse of the song. The figure continued to ignore Oz as it attempted to open the door, which Oz knew was always bolted shut from the inside. Oz allowed himself the absurd idea that this thing wanted to get at his fellow musicians. Whether that was the case or not, if it got into the club, it would find them, and he wasn't going to let it happen.

Not eager to be stabbed again, Oz aimed his renewed attack on the thing at the hand holding the dagger, which clattered to the pavement as his fangs tore first through cloth and then the flesh of the creature's forearm. It staggered back, trying to force him away with its other arm, and toppled into a stack of crates, knocking them over with an ear-splitting crash. Oz thought he heard the music inside falter, but might have imagined it, as it went right on through the chorus. Oz and the eyeless thing had fallen to the ground, and it was groping blindly around with its uninjured arm for the dagger. It never found it, as Oz seized the opportunity to repeat what he had done to its companion. The thing now lay as motionless as the other, blood still seeping from its neck and through the tattered remains of its right sleeve.

Oz quickly ran to the other end of the crate-filled path, but he could neither smell, hear, nor see evidence of any more of the creatures. He sprang up on top of a stack of crates, then to the roof of the club, and scoured the area, and confirmed that the two now laying harmlessly dead in the back alley were the only ones around. Jumping back down, Oz returned to the alley with the dumpster and his van. He was still panting heavily from the fight, but felt relieved. He didn't want to think what might have happened had he not transformed. The final chords of "She Knows" faded. Oz heard, but did not pay attention to the casual chatter of Alex and Cole as they put the instruments away. When he heard the creak of the side door opening, however, he quickly ducked out of sight around the back of the club, his tail whipping out of view just as the two of them emerged into the alley.

"Okay...," said Alex's voice, sounding perplexed, "Why did Oz leave his van?"

"No idea," said an equally mystified Cole. "Maybe he just wanted to walk."

"Sure, and left his keys in the door?" said Alex.

Oz winced. He had forgotten about those. There was little to be done about it now, though.

"You don't think something could have happened to him, do you?" Alex continued, sounding worried.

"To Oz?" said Cole. "Doubt it. He can handle himself."

"Okay, but if we haven't heard from him by the time classes start tomorrow, I'm filing a missing persons report," said Alex.

Oz heard the jangle of keys. "I'll keep these safe until he turns up," said Cole, sounding confident that they wouldn't be disappointed in that area. Oz's eyelids crinkled in the closest thing to a smile he could manage in this form. Those two had long since felt like family to him, and he was glad to hear that the feeling seemed to be mutual. Once they had left the alley and headed for the café, he emerged once more, then opened the side door of the club with some difficulty. He would definitely appreciate having thumbs again.

Having gotten inside, he walked through the darkened room, around the tables upon which spindly chairs had been stacked upside-down, across the dance floor, and to the bathroom, where he jumped up onto the counter. He turned on the faucet by working the lever up with his nose, and ran his long snout through the water, which quickly turned red as the blood of the evil creatures washed out of his fur. He also made sure to thoroughly wash out his mouth to get rid of the disgusting chalky taste of their blood. After doing so, he gratefully swallowed for the first time since he had fought them.

Knowing the owner would arrive soon to open the club, Oz once again waited in the alley, until night had truly fallen and he could sneak down the streets under cover of darkness. The yellow street lamps provided little enough light that this was not difficult. Not fond of the idea of being caught outside up a random street when the sun rose and he was human once more— and, more problematically, naked— , Oz made his way back to his and Cole's apartment complex, the short two miles taking longer than usual, as he moved slowly, carefully avoiding being seen by the people in cars, or the occasional pedestrian.

Once he arrived at the building, he waited in the bushes for at least half an hour. Finally, someone emerged; the old lady who lived a few apartments over. Before the door could close, Oz whipped through the gap and was finally inside. The door of the actual apartment presented a significantly greater challenge, as it was locked, and nobody would be opening it for him any time soon. Resignedly, Oz padded back down the hall to the stairs, and descended two flights to the basement, which served as the building's laundry room. He spent the rest of the long, very uncomfortable night on the hard tile of the supply closet floor, hidden behind the janitor's cart, only managing to sleep for a few broken-up twenty minute intervals.

†

It was eleven-thirty in the morning. The phone rang, and Willow reached automatically to answer it. "Hello?" she asked. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then the line went dead. Willow frowned. The old-fashioned phone didn't have caller ID. She sighed and walked out of the house, breathing in the sweet country air of Westbury. Giles had gone riding. Willow hadn't known he could ride horses until he brought her here, let alone that he owned any. She spotted a tall, sprawling tree atop a hill and made her way slowly towards it, feeling cold inside despite her jacket and the mild warmth of the breezy air. She didn't want to go to her lessons today. The women of the Coven had that subtle way of looking at her that made her feel like she was being crushed beneath the Mount Everest sized weight of what she had done, and she didn't need anyone's help to feel that way. The lessons could wait.

†

Oz held the phone with trembling fingers. Willow's voice. It was the first time he had heard it since he left, and the very last thing he expected to hear on Giles' end from his home in England. The events of the previous evening would have to wait until later to be recounted to Giles. Oz's thoughts inevitably returned to her voice. His memory of it had clearly dimmed; it was so much sweeter than he had remembered. But even in that one word, and through his utter shock, he had heard despair, which was reflected empathetically now in him; real emotion that he rarely felt in his Willowless world. He hated the thought of Willow in pain, with him unable to go to her. _But why not?_ said a bold, unbidden voice in his mind. _The one thing keeping me from her for the last two and a half years looks like it resolved itself last night. What's to stop me from going to her now?_ Oz grimaced as he forced the idea back. It was what he wanted more than anything, but he wasn't going to go barging back into her life after so long. It would be reckless and selfish. Willow didn't need that.

He contemplated throwing something heavy at the wall, but, knowing that would probably wake his snoring roommate in the adjacent bedroom, contented himself instead with running his fingers through his currently dark brown hair. He glanced at the clock, which told him it was only six-thirty. It was Thursday, which meant his earliest class was at one. Gratefully, he stretched out on top of his blue plaid comforter and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

For those of you who are impatient to get to the rest of the Scoobies, fear not. This thing isn't called "Season 8" for no reason. Anyway, I'm just going to ramble about this episode for a bit here. Why, you ask, did I get rid of the wolf Oz transforms into on the show? Simple. It looks _nothing_ like a wolf. If he's going to be classified as a werewolf, he should at least look like a wolf when he transforms. I have similar issues with the tailless, furless thing Lupin turns into in the _Prisoner of Azkaban_ film (though at least that one succeeded in being creepy). I appreciate the obstacles of special effects funding and animal rights, but since I'm merely writing this, I don't have to worry about those things! On a less personal vendetta motivated, more story related point, Oz's new wolf form is a symbol for how far he's come. In other news, I kidnapped Alex, Cole, and Lorin from one of my independent projects because I already know them, so they're easy to work with. Anyway, reviews are deeply appreciated.


	2. 8x02: Miles to Go

Episode 2: Miles to Go

†

Tuesday, May 13, 2003

"Good practice, lads!" said Lorin as Illogical Stop Sign packed their instruments carefully into the van. They had been invited to play at another club—a fact they had carefully hidden from Joe, the rather possessive manager of their usual place, and they had doubled their number of practice sessions in preparation for it. A second venue could be the first step of many that would lead to the band's success, and they didn't want to blow it.

"Yeah, those were some seriously amazing drums," said Cole.

Alex grinned, expertly twirling the drumsticks she still carried constantly.

"And man, that solo!" said Lorin.

"E-flat, diminished ninth," said Oz in satisfaction, knocking his fist against Cole's.

"Hey, Lorin, aren't you late?" asked Alex in a tone of false concern.

Lorin let out a highly amusing noise somewhere between a yelp and a squeak, hurriedly finished helping Alex secure her drum set in the van, and darted over to his dilapidated motorcycle.

"Sam wouldn't care if he's late, would she?" asked Oz as the three of them watched Lorin thunder off.

"No," said Alex, grinning, "but it's fun to make him go into spaz mode anyway."

"Uh-huh," said Oz, "he does that a lot."

Alex nodded enthusiastically.

"At least he was on the right side of the road this time," said Cole, snorting.

Alex laughed.

"You'd think he'd have gotten that down by now," said Oz, brow slightly furrowed. "Ireland was almost three years ago."

Neither of the boys noticed when Alex staggered slightly and put a hand to her head, suddenly breathless. Oz got into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. As the old engine ground solidly into action, there was suddenly an earsplitting metallic wrenching sound and the van lurched back and forth. Oz looked over his shoulder for the source of the disturbance. His eyes widened.

"Um," said Alex in a shocked voice, "What...just happened?"

"I think you ripped the door off Oz's van," said Cole.

Oz stared from the jagged metal where the sliding door had been attached to his van, to the door, which Alex was still holding by the handle. His mind raced, though his face had smoothed back into its standard stoicism.

"Get in," he said to Cole and Alex, "And, uh, hold the door in place until I get you home." They clambered in silently and sat on the bolted down old sofa which served as a makeshift middle seat.

Alex stared, dumbstruck, at her arm, which was holding the door as easily as if it had been made of cardboard. Cole placed his right hand comfortingly over her left, which was clenched and shaking on the cushion between them.

Noticing Alex's expression in the rear-view mirror, Oz turned to look at her. "It'll be okay," he promised. For Alex, maybe, but if this meant what he thought it meant, things were very far from okay. _Gotta call Giles!_ he thought frantically.

"Are you sure?" Alex asked incredulously, her expression still frozen in shock.

"Yeah," said Oz, putting the van in reverse and backing out of the parking space.

"Well, I think it's cool," said Cole, ever the dutiful boyfriend.

Alex redirected her incredulity at him, and he frowned. "Though I guess it's less cool for the door," he said. "But I can patch that up in the shop tomorrow."

She smiled feebly at this. At least she hadn't done any permanent damage.

"Thanks," said Oz distractedly. Cole kept up his stream of reassurances all the way to Alex's house. When Oz pulled the van up to the curb in front of it, Alex looked uncertainly at the door.

"Uh, just put it inside, I guess," said Oz.

Cole clambered forward into the passenger seat, and craned around to watch as Alex put the heavy door carefully in front of the sofa-bench with what looked like very little effort.

"See you tomorrow," Cole told her.

She nodded mutely, then turned and walked to the house. He watched until she vanished inside, then rounded on Oz, who was not disappointed in his suspicion that his roommate's tendency not to ask questions wouldn't hold out long. "Okay, you've been way calm, even for you. What do you know?"

"Maybe nothing," said Oz, "I have to make a phone call first, and I really hope I'm wrong."

†

Oz felt numb. He dialed the number again, and waited with bated breath.

"We're sorry; the number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please hang up and dial again."

"Whoa, Oz! Wasn't that your hometown?" came Cole's voice from the living room, mingled with the sounds of some kind of news report.

Oz put the phone down and joined Cole in front of the TV. A reporter was describing, in complete bafflement, the enormous crater behind her. A caption beneath identified the crater as Sunnydale, California. Oz staggered slightly, and seized the edges of the TV set as he sank to his knees. He slowly became aware of what the reporter was saying.

"The residents of the quiet southern California town had been vacating in droves, for reasons none of them have been able to explain, so it seems that Sunnydale was mercifully deserted before it collapsed earlier today, leaving nothing but this crater you see behind me. Geology experts have so far been unable to explain how—" The screen went blank. Cole had turned it off, staring at Oz.

"I guess that explains why the phone isn't in service," said Oz. The anxiety and despair ripping at his insides were beginning to show on his face. If he only knew what had happened, even if it was as bad as he was imagining, it would be better than this horrible uncertainty. Despite what the reporter had said about Sunnydale being deserted (and he'd already had an inkling of that from a month earlier when his mom called to tell him the family was moving upstate and to give him their new address), Oz felt little hope. He was sure Giles would have called about something like this if he were in any condition to do so.

As it was, the sudden destruction of Sunnydale, coupled with Alex's newfound superhuman strength, as far as Oz knew, could only mean one thing. A Slayer had died. Ever since Faith was called, he had speculated that Buffy was no longer the Slayer whose death would activate the next in line. There hadn't been a new one called by her second death, after all. If Alex was now the Slayer, then that meant Faith was probably dead. Last he had heard from Giles, Faith was on their side again and back in Sunnydale. And with Sunnydale destroyed, and Faith likely dead, then what else? _Who_ else? Giles, Buffy, Xander, Dawn, Anya...

Willow...

Since the day he had left, that hollow sensation of having lost a torso had never faded. He had simply adjusted; learned to live without one. His fellow band members had helped to facilitate this by not pressuring him to date. But this—the possibility that Willow was gone forever... Oz felt the void within him now threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn't let it. He had to hang on—he owed that much to Alex. He might well be the only one left who knew what it all meant.

"Oz?" Cole's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. Oz shook himself mentally and looked up at his roommate. "Those looked like some intense mental forces at work. Seriously, what's up?"

"I don't know," said Oz, reeling as it all went through his mind again. Trying to pull himself together, he continued, "But as far as Alex goes..." He paused. This sort of thing was supposed to be a secret. But Cole had already seen her strength, and Alex would probably need someone for this. Someone who _wasn't_ a pathetic shell of a person. Still, Oz had to be sure. "Do you love her?" he asked.

Cole appeared deeply taken aback by this, but answered at once. "More than anything," he said, without the faintest clue of where Oz was going with this.

"No matter what?" Oz pressed, examining his friend's face closely.

"Of course!" said Cole, almost defiantly.

"Good," said Oz, satisfied, "because Alex is a Vampire Slayer, and she's going to need you to be okay with that."

Whatever Cole had expected, it wasn't that. Ever since he and Alex had met Oz, he had remained reserved and sarcastic in a subtle, deadpan sort of way— but a good friend to them both. This was definitely a first. But then, so was Alex single-handedly amputating a door from a van... Loyalty battled common sense in Cole's mind. Common sense was losing. After a full minute of complete silence, in which Oz continued to scrutinize Cole's face, he finally opened his mouth. "Am I insane if I don't accuse _you_ of being insane, and we just skip to the part where you explain what you just said?" he asked resignedly.

Oz let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "You'd better sit down," he told Cole, who wisely followed the advice, and took the seat across from him. The time had finally come to tell his roommate everything he had left out of his very brief account of Sunnydale.

†

"Okay," said Cole, struggling to wrap his mind around what Oz had just told him, not to mention the fact that Oz had actually talked for a full hour, breaking his record by fifty-nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds. "So, major points: for the most part, humanity exists in a state of happy ignorance about all the vampires, demons, and generally evil stuff going on, and secretly there's one—or, _traditionally_, one—girl in the whole world who is pretty much a superhero, and it's her job to stop the evil. All of this was going down in your old town, your ex-girlfriend is a witch, her best friend is the Slayer, _her_ ex is the exception as far as vampires being evil, and _you_ left because you're a werewolf and that caused major issues."

"I'm impressed," said Oz. "You both took it well, and remembered stuff."

"Oh, my brain feels like it's going to explode any second, but yeah," said Cole, who stood and began to pace the rather limited length of the living room, running a hand through his hair. "So, now that Alex has crazy door-ripping-off strength, you think she's a Slayer, but, since you only get one of those when the old Slayer dies, Sunnydale just went gaping-crater, and you haven't heard from any of the people you knew there yet, you think they all might be dead?"

Oz nodded mutely.

"Dang," said Cole sympathetically. "I bet you've never wished you were wrong this badly."

"You have no idea," said Oz. "Until I know for sure, you, Alex, and Lorin are pretty much all I've got. So, thanks, you know, for believing me."

Cole chuckled, "Well, whenever you actually speak, it's either serious and important or funny. What you just told me definitely qualifies as the former. Plus, you never pull pranks. So, yeah." He shrugged. "I believe you." He paused for a moment, then looked at Oz uncertainly. "How do we tell her?"

"Way I see it, there are two approaches," said Oz. "Practical demonstration, or we just tell her. Take your pick, but we'll probably end up having to do both."

"And, by practical demonstration, you mean picking a fight with badness," said Cole. It wasn't a question.

"That's the idea," said Oz.

"As much as I very deeply hate that plan, I don't see Alex believing it if we go from the just telling her angle," said Cole apprehensively.

"Me either," said Oz, "But, tomorrow night's the first night of the full moon, so I could bail her out in the actual fight if she gets into more than she can handle." He frowned. "Assuming she doesn't think I'm another enemy. Not really looking to be collateral damage."

"Where exactly is this going to happen?" asked Cole.

"Graveyard," said Oz. "Preferably one without mausoleums or near woods. We don't want to be surprised."

"That seems unnecessarily horror film-esque," said Cole.

"No, trust me," said Oz. "Graveyards are where you mostly find rookie vamps— unless there's a mausoleum, because they like to nest in those. It's the dark alleys where vamps lie in wait when they're out for blood."

"Gotcha. Now, explain again how the whole werewolf thing works, because if it's as cool as it sounds, why was it the reason you left?" said Cole, looking confused.

"It wasn't always good, trust me," said Oz, shuddering as he remembered this time the previous year. "I left because, then, and for a long time after that, it was out of control. The wolf...it pretty much took me over. All those times you'd ask if I wanted to go hang out with you and Alex, I stayed because I spent that time, and I don't even want to think about how much more, meditating and doing Zen and Tai Chi stuff, just trying to make things work again. I was getting nowhere until last summer. Right around when I taught you guys 'She Knows', everything just came together. Better than I'd ever hoped. Suddenly, I had full-time access to all the senses and reflexes of the wolf, but I was still me. When the next full moon came along, I transformed. Which, you know, weird because for two and a half years, I only transformed if I lost control of my emotions—" Here, Cole interrupted with a snort.

"And when does that _ever_ happen?" he asked.

"Thankfully, only a couple of times," said Oz. "The kinda awesome thing is that now, even in wolf form, I'm still me. And I've seen pictures of what I used to turn into, and it's nothing like now. I mean, back then, 'werewolf' was probably less accurate than 'were-gorillabeast from hell', but now—"

"Real wolf?" Cole guessed.

"Real wolf," said Oz. "So, as long as Alex realizes I'm on her side, I can take over if the slayage gets too tough." He grimaced at the thought of what that would entail. Even after nine full moons of killing demons in much the same way as he had the two in the back alley of the club, it was still about as far as anything could be from pleasant. He quickly stopped thinking about it, as it invariably made him gag.

"Okay," said Cole, "we're at the graveyard, you scare up a vampire and wait to come out if Alex needs help, I'm standing back—which I _hate_, by the way—and she's supposed to kill this thing...how, exactly?"

"The drumsticks," said Oz, smirking, "She always has them. No need to worry about giving her a weapon, which could fall on the hard to explain side."

"Drumsticks aren't exactly sharp," said Cole skeptically.

"If Alex can accidentally tear a door off a van," said Oz, "she can stake a vamp with a drumstick. And then it's explanation time. Sorry I won't be able to help you out with that one. Wolf vocal cords."

"Great," said Cole, sitting down again. "This should be interesting."

†

"Oh, come on, why do I get stuck in L.A.?" Dawn asked irritably for about the tenth time that day.

"I told you," said Buffy wearily, "I don't want you getting caught in the middle of whatever goes down when we destroy the Cleveland Hellmouth. It'll be way too dangerous. And besides, you won't be in L.A. The Quinns have moved since we moved to Sunnydale. Isabelle is just in L.A. this week visiting cousins, so Giles and I will drop you off there, and then her parents will pick both of you up so you can spend your junior year in Palo Alto. Which is good, considering that, for not being on a Hellmouth, L.A. is pretty messed up."

"Whatever," said Dawn dismissively, eager to get back to her point, "I was fine when we destroyed the Sunnydale Hellmouth; what's the difference for Cleveland?"

"The difference is that I'm not going to let you out of my sight until you're safely in L.A. with the Quinns. You won't be able to knock Xander out and sneak into the war zone this time," said Buffy, glaring at her.

Dawn was completely unabashed. "But I can fight! I'm not a Slayer, but I've been fighting longer than any of the new ones! And of the two of us, which is the one who got run through yesterday?"

"Look, when we moved to Sunnydale, we didn't know it was on a Hellmouth, and it was Mom who decided to move there anyway. But we already know about Cleveland, and there's no reason to put you in that situation again if I don't have to."

Dawn sat mutinously on the motel room bed, not looking at Buffy.

Buffy sighed and sat next to her sister. "What I need is for you to be a normal girl. Go to high school, date; just live your life. Those things can't happen for you in Cleveland," she said gently. She might never find a normal life for herself, but Dawn was free to it, if she could only understand what a gift that was. Buffy stroked Dawn's long hair affectionately.

After a moment, Dawn's posture loosened slightly and she looked away from the wall. "High school not on a Hellmouth. Sounds exciting," she said glumly.

Buffy smiled at her, relieved. "And you've been keeping in touch with Isabelle ever since we moved out of L.A. Her parents are happy to let you stay with them." She chuckled and added, "Plus, you've got to admit that it's a better solution than sending you to live with Aunt Arlene."

Dawn made a face. "Yeah, thanks for that." Aunt Arlene was nice enough, but her and Uncle Rob's three kids were complete terrors. Neither Dawn nor Buffy was keen to see them more often than at family reunions. Dawn sighed. She hated the idea of being left behind, but it wasn't as though she actually _enjoyed_ the never-ending perils of living in Buffy's world. It was exciting, sure, but it might be nice to live where the most horrible things to worry about were homework and acne. And Isabelle Quinn _had_ been her best friend growing up in L.A.—only, that wasn't really true because she hadn't technically existed then, but she would be happy to see her again all the same. "Okay, I'll go," she said, then glared at her older sister. "And don't pull the 'whatever, you didn't have a choice anyway' thing."

Buffy smiled. "I won't," she promised.

"And you'd better call me at least twice a week," Dawn said warningly, "because if you don't, I won't be able to take the suspense, and I'll be in Cleveland before you can stop me."

"Fair enough," said Buffy, "It'll be about as hard for me not to come back and check up on you."

Dawn rolled her eyes.

"If you have any problems, you can call, of course, but the best thing would probably be to contact Angel, because he'll only be five hours away. Before I go anywhere, I'm going to get his word that he'll make sure you stay safe over there."

At this, Dawn lost focus a little. "Well, then why can't I just stay at that hotel place Angel's got? I could work for his detective agency!" she said brightly.

"Dawn, I'm trying to keep you _out_ of life-threatening situations, not put you in different ones."

Dawn huffed impatiently, but nodded.

"Okay, well, if that's all, how about we get your stuff ready to go?" said Buffy.

"What stuff? I've just got the one tiny bag I packed before Sunnydale became a giant hole in the ground," said Dawn dully. None of them really had much in the way of stuff. Buffy herself, apart from the magnificent Scythe, only had one small wooden chest she wasn't quite sure how she had managed to save in the first place, and which she hadn't opened yet.

"And correcting that problem will be our mission today," said Buffy. "Willow and Xander are going to head for Cleveland with Faith, Wood, Andrew, and the new Slayers, and I managed to convince Giles to rent a car and take you and me to L.A. He's going to go compare notes with Wesley, or something, and we are going shopping. After that, Giles and I will drop you off at Isabelle's cousin's and then head east."

Dawn brightened quite a bit at this. "When are we going?" she asked.

"Now. You ready?" said Buffy.

"For shopping?" said Dawn gleefully. "Yes!"

"Okay, go say goodbye to everyone while I get Giles. They're all out by the bus getting ready to go," said Buffy, standing up.

Dawn promptly bounced off the edge of the bed and ran out of the room. Smiling and shaking her head, Buffy followed her out, but while her sister sprinted down the hall to the exit, she turned the other way, heading for her Watcher's room.

Dawn emerged into the parking lot to find Willow and Xander standing by the door of the bus, making sure they didn't miss anyone as the new Slayers got on. All of them looked considerably better than they had the day before. The benefits of Slayer healing already kicking in, Dawn supposed enviously.

"Hey, Dawn," said Willow. Dawn ran up and hugged her very tightly. Willow smiled, hugging her back. "Take care," she said into Dawn's hair.

"I will," she promised, letting Willow go and hugging Xander next. "You guys had better tell me _everything_ that happens over there!"

"No problem. We'll send you hourly reports," said Xander, saluting.

"I mean it!" said Dawn.

"Don't worry. We won't leave anything out," said Willow reassuringly.

Dawn hugged her again. Part of her still really hated this plan.

"Hey, Dawn," said Faith's voice from behind Dawn. She pulled away from Willow and caught the dark-haired Slayer completely off-guard by hugging her as well. "Whoa," said Faith, once Dawn released her, "I guess this means B got through to you."

Dawn scowled, but nodded.

"In that case, I've got some very important advice. Party hard and score a few studs." Catching sight of the looks on Willow's and Xander's faces, Faith added hastily, "And, uh, don't drop out of school."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Dawn, eyebrows raised.

"Time to motor," said Faith to the other two. "See you, kid."

Rona, Vi, and Kennedy waved at her from within the bus.

"Bye, Dawn," said Willow and Xander.

"Bye," she said, trying not to cry as they finally got on as well. She went back into the hotel so she wouldn't have to watch as they drove out of her life, but she could still hear the rumble of the bus fading quickly into silence. She couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

†

"Hey, what's up with Oz today?" asked Alex, peering down from the roof of the van, where she had been lying while Cole worked on the door. Oz had so far spent the entire day strumming the chords of "She Knows" over and over, and hadn't said a word. "Because, that's a great song, but ever since about the seventy-fourth time he played it, it's been drilling holes through my brain."

"He's just trying not to have a nervous breakdown," Cole explained as he retrieved a few more tools. "His hometown was reduced to a crater yesterday, and he still hasn't heard if any of his friends there made it out alive."

Alex winced. "That really, really sucks," she said, looking over at Oz sympathetically, "but I don't think playing until his fingers bleed is going to help."

"Have you seen Lorin?" Cole asked, grunting as he strained to get the metal to move the way he wanted it to. "I thought we were going to practice the new song after I fixed the door."

Alex looked down at him incredulously. "What, you mean you seriously didn't notice before the gig last night the very heated debate he was having with himself over the exact details of his elaborate scheme to propose to Sam today?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh," said Cole blankly. "_That's_ what that was about. I didn't catch much through the accent."

"After nearly three years of hearing it, you still don't understand him?" she laughed.

"When he's intense about something, it gets thicker!" said Cole defensively.

"Hey, it's almost sunset," said Oz. Alex and Cole jumped. They hadn't noticed when he stopped playing and approached them. "I'm gonna take off. I'll catch up with you guys later." He exchanged a look with Cole, which Alex failed to notice from her unusual vantage point.

"But Cole's almost done fixing the door," she said, perplexed. "Don't you want to wait?"

"I think I'll just walk," said Oz, "I can come back and get the van tomorrow." With that, he left the shop, hands thrust deeply into his pockets.

"Weird," said Alex, rolling back over on top of the van, now facing the ceiling. She gave her drumsticks an extra twirl. After a moment, she hung her head upside-down over the side, looking at Cole. "So, I guess it's just the two of us again this evening. Wanna go out?"

Cole felt the nerves he had been repressing all day beginning to creep up on him, but he managed to casually deliver the lines he had been rehearsing in his head as he continued to work on the door. "Yeah," he began. "You know, I've been feeling weirdly morbid lately. I thought we could swing by the cemetery a few blocks over, and then we could go for a movie."

"As long as the movie is _X-Men II_," said Alex. They had already seen it twice.

Cole laughed. "Sure," he said, relieved that the more crucial part of his suggestion had gone unchallenged.

†

"What do you think?" Dawn asked eagerly, modeling what must have been the thousandth outfit she had tried so far.

"It looks really cute," said Buffy, trying to focus on the outfit. She didn't want to give her sister bad advice, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate on clothes at the moment. It had only been a day since the battle.

_"I love you."_

_"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."_

And now Spike was gone. She hadn't allowed herself to think about it since they left the wreckage of Sunnydale behind, but knew she wouldn't be able to hold it off forever.

"I think I'm going to get these jeans," said Dawn decisively. Buffy barely heard her, but Dawn didn't notice as she contentedly foraged through more racks of clothes.

What did he mean, telling her she didn't love him? Buffy felt indignant. She was the one who knew how she felt, not him. Or, did she? Another recent conversation surfaced in her mind.

_"Because—okay, I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking..." _

Buffy chuckled a little as she remembered Angel's reaction to that analogy. The mirth died as she thought about what she had said. She had meant it. Growing up fast, saving the world every other week—it didn't leave much time for introspection and self discovery. So maybe she really wasn't the one who could speak for her own emotions. Had Spike been right? If he was, why would she have said it in the first place? _He_ had loved her, that was for sure, and it had been real, unlike the sick obsessive kind he'd had pre-soul. And he had given his life to save the world. He was a hero. Buffy opened and closed her left hand, looking at the burned skin that had already begun to heal. But did she really love Spike, or had she been telling him what he wanted to hear—what he had waited to hear since he returned to Sunnydale with his soul? There was definitely something there. Was it love? If so, what kind? The _in_ love, non-platonic kind? Love could come in so many varieties. But did it even matter now? He was gone. Her throat tightened painfully.

"What about this?" asked Dawn.

Buffy jumped, her surroundings coming back to her. She saw that Dawn was holding a purple top against herself and smiled. "I give it high marks. You should get it."

"I think I will. It would look great with that jacket we found earlier." Dawn gave the top another critical glance, then a decisive nod as she placed it on the growing pile in the cart.

Buffy returned to her musings as though there had been no interruption. She had seen the very worst of herself with Spike, and she shuddered as she tried not to think about that. That was over. So very over. She tried to limit her recollections to the recent ones. Comfort, loyalty, trust. Yes, all of those things. But was she really in love with him? Why was it so hard to figure out? The picture in her mind changed, and she saw Angel instead. She knew she loved Angel. That wasn't even a question. It never had been. It wasn't like she could do anything about it, though, she reminded herself in frustration. Why was this all so complicated? Maybe there really was something wrong with her. Buffy sighed. _Looks like I'll just have to bake some more, _she thought glumly.

"Okay, I think I'm done here," said Dawn, sifting through her spoils in the cart. "Time to go find shoes."

"Sounds good," said Buffy, pushing her own cart, which was piled high with things for herself and everyone currently bound for Cleveland, and they headed to the checkout.

†

"Ohmygosh, Dawn!" shrieked Isabelle when she answered the door. She practically knocked Dawn off her feet as she dove at her and seized her in a tight hug.

"Hi, Izzy," said Dawn, grinning. Though the shopping trip had helped her come to terms with staying in California while Buffy and the others went to Cleveland, her friend being so happy to see her was what truly sealed the deal.

"Hey, Buffy," said Isabelle.

Buffy smiled at her. Dawn had gone to visit Isabelle a couple of times after they had moved to Sunnydale, but this was the first time Buffy had seen her since Dawn's ninth birthday party. She had certainly grown and changed a lot since then. Gone were the days of strawberry-blond braids and flowery mom-chosen dresses.

Buffy and Giles followed Dawn into the house, moving very awkwardly under the bulk of her many purchases. Isabelle chattered happily as she led the way to the guest room. "Mom and I are going to get a whole room set up for you when we get back home. You remember Emily, my sister?" Dawn nodded, and Buffy dimly recalled the nerdy girl in her grade whom she had intentionally never spoken to. She felt a small twinge of shame at her former vanity, but didn't dwell on it. "Well, she's at MIT now," Isabelle went on, "so you'll get her old room."

"Cool," said Dawn, feeling deeply thankful that she would have a room to herself—not because she would have hated sharing one with Isabelle; she just felt much less intrusive this way. Isabelle's cousins' guest room was easily large enough for Isabelle and Dawn to share for the last couple of days of the visit, especially since Dawn was used to sharing a room with about ten other girls. Giles and Buffy gratefully dumped the many shopping bags on the floor by the dresser.

"Hey, Isabelle, are your aunt and uncle here?" Buffy asked.

"No, they had to go to some big work thing, and my cousins are hanging out with some of their friends. They left me here to meet you," she said. "They should be back soon, though."

"Oh, well, we actually need to go, but I'll call later," said Buffy.

"Please thank your parents for us, for letting Dawn stay with you. It's very generous of them," said Giles.

"No problem," said Isabelle, grinning. So this was the old British guy Dawn had told her about. She already liked him better than Dawn's dad.

"Buffy," said Giles meaningfully.

Buffy nodded, turning to Dawn. "Time to go," she said, "I love you, Dawn." She hugged her sister, careful not to deploy Slayer strength on her. She hated leaving her here, but it would be better for both of them if Dawn was somewhere Buffy knew she would be safe.

"I love you, too," said Dawn, who took advantage of being free to hug as tightly as she possibly could. Both sisters' faces were streaked with tears, and even Giles was blinking furiously to avoid succumbing to them. Dawn hugged him too.

"Do look after yourself," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"I'll call as soon as we get there," Buffy promised. Isabelle, feeling awkward to witness their emotional goodbyes, led them to the door.

"Bye," said Dawn.

"Goodbye, Dawn," said Giles. Buffy merely smiled through her tears, gave Dawn one last brief hug, and kissed her on the forehead. Then, she and Giles left the house, silently got back into the rented car, and were gone.

"So what's the word from Wesley?" Buffy asked to dispel the oppressive silence.

"He brought me up to date on their latest battles," said Giles. "It seems that while we faced ultimate evil, he, Angel, and some of their other associates with whom I'm not familiar, stopped a corrupt higher being from transforming the world into her own mindless slave state. Apparently it was universal bliss at the expense of free will. Naturally, they had objections."

"Sounds like fun," said Buffy, inwardly shuddering.

"Quite. But as what they did could be viewed as being remarkably akin to ending world peace, Wolfram and Hart, a law firm deeply rooted in evil, whose Senior Partners date back to the time of the Old Ones, has put them in charge of its Los Angeles branch. After, I might add, specifically targeting Angel for nearly four years," said Giles, sounding deeply suspicious.

"Okay, I can just _hear_ the dramatic chords playing," said Buffy. "Even Angel might be in over his head on this one."

"Let's hope not," said Giles. "Apart from that, Wesley and I exchanged accounts of what's been happening since he started working for Angel. It seems they've hardly had a moment's peace with everything they've faced since then."

"We can relate," said Buffy dryly.

"Indeed," said Giles.

"Hey, where are we going? This isn't the way to LAX," Buffy said, looking out the window and frowning. She glanced back over at him in time to see the odd smirk on his face. "Giles?" she asked uncertainly.

"Well, Wesley also mentioned that they now have access to a private jet," he said. Buffy felt sure that had he not been focused on navigating L.A. evening traffic, he would have been cleaning his glasses as he said it.

"Wow. Up-side number one of running an evil law firm," she said.

"So it would seem," said Giles, his brow furrowing slightly. "This does, however, give us a bit of time, if there's anything..." He left the sentence incomplete.

Buffy smiled. Despite their recent disagreements, Giles knew her well. "Yeah," she said, "I need to see Angel."

"I imagine he'll be glad to know that you're well—to hear it from you, rather than Wesley. And I suppose it'll be a good chance for you both to say whatever needs to be said before there are twenty-three hundred miles between you for God knows how long."

Buffy felt as though something cold and hard had clenched around her heart as the reality of what Giles said hit her. "I know," she said quietly.

"I might check back with Wesley. We got rather caught up recounting past adventures, and I forgot to ask if any of his new resources could be of help to us," he said, and Buffy was grateful for the change of topic. "Especially as quite a few of my best occult reference books now lie among the rubble."

"I'm sorry, Giles," said Buffy, knowing how much those books had meant to her Watcher.

"It's quite all right," he said. "It's more important that we survived, after all." Silence fell. Not all of them _had_ survived. All the Potential Slayers who'd lost their lives during the year, and then Amanda, Anya, and Spike in the battle...

The silence lingered until they reached Wolfram and Hart.

†

"Ha!" exclaimed a triumphant Cole as he opened and closed the van door with satisfaction. "Done!"

"Your skills are truly impressive," said Alex, relieved that the damage she still had no idea how she had caused had been repaired.

"Milady," said Cole, holding out his hand. Taking it, Alex swung down from the roof of the van with only minimal stumbling on re-entry.

"To the graveyard, then?" she asked.

"To the graveyard," he confirmed.

"Freak," she said playfully. He forced a grin, and they left the shop together, fingers still interlocked. The sky became steadily darker as they walked.

"Wow, I feel wired!" said Alex, her step becoming distinctly bouncy.

"And you spent the entire day lying on top of a van doing nothing, why?" asked Cole.

"It was about as much as I would've gotten from a day in class," she said, shrugging.

"Glad it's almost summer?"

"As always. I think finals are messing with my brain, though. I had all these crazy dreams about monsters and stuff. It was like...horror movie meets _Mortal Kombat_. It was kinda fun!"

"And you call me the freak," said Cole, shaking his head._ I dreamed that vampires were attacking my girlfriend while I could only watch,_ he added mentally. This was insane! He was at least certain that it was an all-or-nothing kind of deal. Either Oz was telling the truth about all of it, or he and Alex would go on to watch _X-Men II_ after the graveyard, and he would be sure to punch Oz very hard in the face for all of this, no matter how much emotional turmoil he was in.

†

A woman crouched on the edge of the roof of the building next to them, silhouetted against the evening sky. Upon catching sight of them, her face cracked into a deadly, fanged smile. Silently, she hurried along the rooftops ahead of the unsuspecting pedestrians, then dropped into an alley, landing cat-like on the filthy pavement.

"Here comes our dinner, boys," she said with malevolent glee. Her words were met by three expectant grins.

†

Oz prowled silently among the headstones, but had no luck. There were no fresh graves, which meant that no vampires would be rising here tonight. He padded over to the entrance of the cemetery and peered cautiously down the street. No sign of Alex and Cole. It had definitely been an hour since sunset already, so where were they? He sat and waited, eyes on the street corner where they should be emerging any moment.

After a few minutes, his sense of uneasiness overcame his patience, and he began to move stealthily toward the street corner. Poking his head around the side of the building there, he could just see two figures on the sidewalk a couple of blocks ahead. He relaxed, but then a sudden gust of wind blew in his face from their direction. He froze. He knew that smell. Vampires. At least three of them. Abandoning all stealthiness, he began to sprint up the street as fast as his wolf legs would carry him.

†

"_How_ can Nightcrawler be your favorite character?" asked Cole in disbelief.

"Well, because!" said Alex, "He's all blue, and with the _BAMF_!" She flicked open her hands to demonstrate teleporting.

"But Storm is just so much more awesome. You can't deny that she's more awesome," said Cole.

"_That's_ your winning argu—" she began, but then she went very still. All of her senses had suddenly gone into overdrive.

"What?" Cole asked. This couldn't be good.

"I don't know," said Alex, looking around. What was going on? She looked down the alley on their left, but there was nothing there but a dumpster and some empty cardboard boxes. Still, she couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of imminent danger. As she looked back towards the end of the street and started walking again, she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. It was as if her body had begun to act of its own accord. In one fluid movement, she had shoved Cole forward and away from the mouth of the alley, then directed a powerful kick towards the man suddenly standing there. Her heavy boot connected squarely with his stomach, knocking him back.

Cole, meanwhile, had staggered several yards down the street before regaining his balance and turning back. What he saw made his heart stand still. Four people surrounded Alex; three men and a woman. The woman was petite, but the men were all of the football player build. By the dim light of the nearest street lamp, Cole could make out their faces. All were deathly pale and grotesquely disfigured, with feral yellow eyes glaring out from beneath weirdly lumpy brows and lips drawn back in snarls over wickedly pointed teeth. His nightmare had come true. Vampires. They had to be. Two of them suddenly charged Alex, but she sidestepped them, and they collided with each other and fell to the ground, dazed. Before they could get up, Alex seized the female around the neck and threw her down on top of them.

One thing was very clear to Cole. Unlike in his nightmare, he was _not_ going to stand back and watch. Finally managing to force his legs to work, he ran at the one vampire still standing and tackled him from behind, causing him to fall forward. The vampire let out a shriek of pain halfway down. A second later, he exploded into dust, revealing Alex, who was now holding her drumsticks like daggers. She caught Cole as he continued to fall, then helped him back up. He stared at her. Thought her face had gone white and she looked petrified, she somehow seemed to know what to do. Her wide green eyes met his brown ones briefly before she turned back to face the three remaining vampires, all of whom were getting back to their feet, considerably more irritated than before. The female stared at the pile of dust at Cole's and Alex's feet.

"Lawrence!" she said in shock, then let out a snarl like an angry lion. "You two will die slowly and painfully for this."

"Bring it on," challenged Alex. The fear on her face was replaced with a look of cold determination as, for the thousandth time, she twirled her drumsticks between her fingers. Cole felt his own confidence rising with hers. "You sticking around?" she asked him.

"No matter what," he said. The vampires charged again without warning, the woman going for Cole while the other two converged upon Alex.

Cole managed to land one punch, but the woman caught the second one and threw him down. He hit his head hard on the sidewalk. Tiny multicolored lights popped in his vision, and pain exploded from the point of impact. Through the fireworks display in his eyes, he saw the vampire coming at him again. He kicked out as hard as he could with both legs. She stumbled backward, but didn't fall. He tried to stand, but the world spun crazily, and he fell back to the ground with a groan. She was bearing down on him again when he heard the sounds of something running towards them. Then there was a loud, snarling growl as the thing leapt right over him, barreling right into the vampire, whose screams filled the air.

A few yards away, Alex dropped down as the two burly vampires—for she instinctively knew that that was what they were—came at her, then swung her left leg out at the closest one, knocking his feet out from under him. As he toppled over, Alex dodged the second one, seized him by the arm, and used his own momentum to send him careening into the empty street. Before she could even turn, however, the large, cold hands of the one she had tripped closed with a vice-like grip around her throat.

The drumsticks clattered to the ground as she attempted to pry his hands away, but they wouldn't budge. Her head beginning to swim, Alex saw the other vampire coming back for round two. She pushed off the ground, forcing the vampire strangling her to support all of her weight, and swung both legs up and out, slamming them squarely into the second vampire's chest, sending him flying into the street and causing the one holding her to stagger back against the brick wall behind them. She heard his head crack against the brick and his grip slackened just enough that she was able to get free. She dropped to the sidewalk and rolled over, snatching up one of the drumsticks just in time to plunge it into the chest of the vampire she had kicked as he made a dive for her. She withdrew the drumstick sharply as he, too, exploded into dust.

A snarl accompanied by bloodcurdling shrieks suddenly came from Alex's left, and she turned, distracted, to see an enormous wolf tearing ferociously at the female vampire with its claws and fangs. Cole was slumped near them, struggling to get up, blood pouring down the side of his face from under his dark hair.

Alex's momentary inattention cost her. Once again, she felt strong, icy hands closing around her throat.

"Not this time, little girl," said a sinister voice in her ear. "You're not going anywhere."

All at once, the terror which had thus far been miraculously absent consumed her, and she couldn't move a muscle as his sharp fangs pierced her neck, the pain of it driving everything else from her mind.

Blinking furiously to clear his vision, Cole finally managed to get to his feet. He looked past the unpleasant sight of Oz ripping the female vampire to shreds with his teeth and claws, trying to find Alex. To his horror, he saw the other remaining vampire leaning in to bite her. The pain in his head forgotten completely, he seized the other drumstick, which had rolled near him, and ran up behind the vampire that had Alex, who didn't seem to be able to move. Holding the blunt implement tightly with both hands, Cole swung it as hard as he could into the left side of the vampire's back. It went straight through the black cloth of the shirt, and several inches beyond. As the vampire crumbled to ash, Alex collapsed, trembling, into Cole's arms. They clutched each other tightly, sinking to the pavement, both panting hard.

When the hideous snarling and ripping sounds finally ceased, Cole turned to see Oz, panting even harder than the two of them, dark blood matting the fur around his snout and paws. He came slowly over to them and sat, looking from one to the other with what Cole could only assume was concern. Cole smiled feebly.

Alex stirred, then noticed Oz. Shrinking up against Cole, she said, weakly, "Wolf...why...is there...wolf?"

Cole offered a weary grin. "Say hello to our favorite guitarist," he said, and could have sworn that Oz raised his eyebrows.

"_Oz_?" said Alex in confusion and disbelief. "But...huh?"

"Werewolf," Cole explained. Then he frowned. "Which we've apparently been too dumb to figure out in all this time. No worries, though; he's still Oz in there."

"Cool," said Alex. She gave a small, mirthless laugh. "So, I guess those weren't just dreams, huh?"

"Probably not," said Cole.

Alex made an effort to sit up straighter, then turned to glare at Cole. "Okay, I know you know something," she began, her voice becoming much stronger, "Probably since before your whole graveyard plan—which, let's _not_, by the way—so, out with it, now."

"Um, okay," said Cole. Oz stared at him. "Well, I don't know as much as wolf-man here, but he told me a lot about it last night."

"Abridged now," said Alex, then glared instead at Oz, "but you _will_ be giving me the director's cut version tomorrow."

Oz nodded hastily, his eyes wide.

"Right," said Cole, not sure where to begin. "Uh...as you know now, vampires and werewolves are real, and so are and all kinds of other demons and badness. We're still not sure what's going on with the people Oz knew in Sunnydale, but a lot of the crazy stuff went down there. Since the beginning of time, or whatever, there's always been one girl in the world with the strength to fight the evil. That's the Slayer. For the past few years, there have been two of them, but a new one is only chosen when the one before her dies. We don't know how, but it looks like that might have happened, because apparently you're a Slayer now."

"Yay me?" said Alex in a dazed voice. Then her face hardened again as she looked indignantly at him. "Why didn't you tell me all of this _before_ we got jumped by vampires?"

Cole and Oz both shifted uncomfortably.

"Well," said Cole, "Oz and I kinda figured you maybe wouldn't believe it so much until you actually fought something. But we definitely weren't planning on getting ambushed by _four_ of them." He shuddered. "We were just going to try to find _one_ at the cemetery!"

"I ripped a door off a van, and you thought I'd need more proof that weirdness is going on?" she asked incredulously.

"Hey, I'd only just heard all of this myself, and my brain was on overload, so I guess I wasn't thinking that clearly," said Cole.

"Okay, I want to go home now," said Alex, grunting slightly as she stood up. Oz suddenly bolted down the alley just as a solitary car passed. After it turned the corner, he returned cautiously to stand next to the two of them.

"We could go back for the van," said Cole with a glance at Oz, who nodded again.

Twenty minutes later, Cole was pulling up in front of Alex's house. "See you tomorrow," she said. He was relieved. That meant she wasn't quite as mad at him as he had thought. He looked back at Oz, who was stretched out on the sofa bench, still managing to look pensive in this form. Without another word, Cole turned the van in the direction of home.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this one! Now for the writer's commentary. Buffy leaving Dawn in California. To me, this seems a perfectly believable course of action, since Buffy had already tried to get Dawn out of the fight via Xander. Just because she failed that time doesn't mean she's going to just let Dawn be in situations of untold danger in future if she can help it. Buffy's inner monologue about Spike. I am not, in any way, a Buffy/Spike fan. I had to try very hard to put myself in her place to write that, for, as much as I balk at any emotional connection between her and Spike, there was pretty much no way around that scene. She just lost him, and he was important to her. On Buffy's continuum of non-platonic to romantic love (Xander being at one extreme and Angel being at the other), I think that by the time "Chosen" rolled around, Spike was somewhere in the middle. He managed to make it onto the continuum, which was why she said she loved him, but he wasn't all the way at Angel's end, which was why he contradicted her. Anyway, disregarding anything to do with Spike out of spite would have left a gaping hole in Buffy's character progression. And, with Spike gone, I'm convinced that she would cling even more insistently to Angel, since she doesn't want to lose him as well. Besides, the kiss in "Chosen" laid those foundations for me, and he was the only one besides Dawn that she wanted to keep out of harm's way for the battle, so it's not really a stretch. Oz's closeness to Alex and Cole. This could have gone with episode one, but it'll work here too. Oz may not have had a girlfriend or even really considered having one since he left, but that doesn't mean he can't have friends. He isn't a pathetic loner. True, he shuts Alex and Cole out a lot when it comes to his private feelings, but when you consider that he kept his Veruca problems from everyone until they pretty much ruined everything, that makes sense too.


	3. 8x03: Exodus

As of April 17, 2011, this episode has been thoroughly edited and (at least in my opinion) improved. I changed a lot more in this one than I did in the first one, deleting a couple of pointless scenes, bumping the final scene to the next episode where it belongs, and completely rewriting all of the Buffy/Angel scenes. Enjoy!

* * *

Episode 3: Exodus

†

"Who knew evil could look so...boring," said Buffy as she and Giles looked around. With the exception of a small huddle of creatures with scaly purple skin and tall horns, the place appeared completely ordinary. She felt a very strong urge to slay as the weird growling chatter of the group of demons reached her ears, but curbed it, wanting to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

"Ah, Buffy, Mr. Giles," said a familiar voice. They turned to find Wesley descending the odd-looking stairs towards them, accompanied by a tall black man and a green-skinned demon with red eyes and horns who was dressed in a startlingly colorful suit. Upon reaching them, Wesley shook Giles' and Buffy's hands.

"These are my friends and colleagues, Lorne and Charles Gunn," said Wesley, indicating his companions, each of whom shook Buffy's and Giles' hands in turn, while Wesley continued, "and these are Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles."

"Nice to meet you," said Charles with a friendly grin. "Wes didn't need to make it so formal though. Just call me Gunn."

"I trust you don't need them to sing for you, Lorne?" asked Wesley.

"Not unless they want to," said Lorne, smiling. "I'm getting nothing but the big shining white knight vibe from their auras."

"Oh, so you're an empath?" asked Giles, intrigued.

Buffy cleared her throat. She'd have been happy to get to know these two better, as well as catch up with Wesley, who had clearly changed a great deal since their last meeting, but now was very much not the time.

"Of course, forgive me," said Wesley, picking up the hint and leading them back up the same staircase he and the other two had just come down. He stopped when they reached a set of wooden double-doors and turned to look at Buffy. "Angel's in there," he said, nodding towards the doors. Buffy thanked him quietly, and he next addressed Giles, "I presume you'd like to compare notes about the Cleveland situation?"

"Oh, er, yes, that would be excellent," said Giles. He placed a gentle hand on Buffy's shoulder before following Wesley down the hall.

Buffy watched them go, then took a deep breath, smiled at Gunn and Lorne, and entered the large office.

"So that's the heartthrob of our big champion," Lorne mused after the door closed behind her. "I kinda wish I'd made her sing."

"Yeah," said Gunn. "Well, I'm gonna visit Anne, see if she needs help at the shelter." They parted.

†

Angel was just stepping out of the elevator, his hair still wet from the shower, when the door of his office opened and Buffy walked through it. "Buffy," he said, stopping short.

"Angel," she replied automatically.

"Wes said you might be coming by this evening."

"Yeah. Giles and I just dropped Dawn off. And, um, about that—I mean, hopefully it won't be necessary, but do you think you could—"

"Make sure she stays out of trouble while you're in Cleveland?" he finished, his eyes twinkling and the corners of his mouth quirking up. "No problem."

"Thank you," she said, relieved. "And you don't have to go check up on her or anything; I know it's a five hour drive. I just told her to call you if something happens."

He nodded. "So, uh," he said slightly awkwardly, "can I get you anything? Something to eat? Drink? Or if you want to take a shower, the one in the penthouse is amazing. I think it might actually have been imported from next century."

Buffy smiled in amusement. "Thanks, but I think I'm fine for now. Although if you've got a way I can make up for about a year's worth of lack of sleep in the space of a few hours, I wouldn't say no."

"I've been asking about that, but apparently it's still in development," he said, also smiling.

As they'd been talking, they had drifted towards each other, so that they were now only a couple of feet apart. Buffy took one more step forward, and then his arms were around her. Despite how offhand he had tried to sound, she could feel his intense relief that she had survived in the way he held her. She rested her head against his chest and hugged him back with a sigh of contentment.

"Mmm, it's so much better seeing you this side of the battle," she said.

"It really is," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

†

"Your best books?" asked Wesley, appalled.

"Yes," Giles confirmed, "as well as everything I managed to smuggle out of the Council's headquarters before it got blown up. I was hoping your resources could help in some way."

"Oh, I think you'll find whatever you need and more," said Wesley, indicating a row of thick volumes sitting neatly on the table in front of his desk.

"Unless those books are specifically about the Cleveland Hellmouth, I'm not sure—," Giles began skeptically, but Wesley cut him off.

"You'll find that in this case, appearances can be deceiving." He pulled out one of the books and offered it to Giles. "Although I still find it a sort of perversion of the way this traditionally works. Just tell it what you want. If it's in Wolfram and Hart's archive, you can access it through these."

"That's rather handy," said Giles.

"Quite," agreed Wesley, then frowned. "Each one in the main set is linked to a different part of the archives, but the one you're holding serves as a sort of sampler of the whole thing. I'm willing to part with it, if you think it would help you in Ohio."

"Cheers," said Giles. "I'm sure it will come in very useful."

"Now then, have you any plans for where you're all going to stay once you get to Cleveland?" Wesley asked.

"No, and I'm afraid that could prove rather problematic," Giles admitted, removing his glasses and polishing them on his handkerchief.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," said Wesley. When Giles gave him a bemused look, he pulled a folder out of the top drawer of his desk and handed it to him.

"What's this?" Giles asked. He opened it to find pictures of the interior of a rather magnificent building and a thick package of key cards.

"After you left to take Dawn to her friend's house, Angel and I discussed the situation of your plans in Cleveland. We agreed that there can't be many better ways to spend large amounts of Wolfram and Hart's money than to provide comfortable living space for an army of Slayers intending to destroy a Hellmouth. We managed to find a suitable location, and it's being outfitted for everyone's needs as we speak."

"'Summers' Academy for Girls'," Giles read from the top of a formal looking document, intrigued.

"What better way to disguise a large Slayer operation than telling the public it's one of those snobby, high-end private boarding schools?" said Wesley.

"What better way indeed," said Giles. He looked up at Wesley, unsure how to voice what he felt. "How can we possibly return the favor?" he asked.

"No need," said Wesley, waving his hand dismissively. "Anything to deprive Wolfram and Hart of resources is a favor returned in itself. And they aren't even objecting, as sponsoring such a school both counts as a massive tax write-off and makes them look very charitable._"_

"Right," said Giles, who suddenly felt as though destroying a Hellmouth was a rather straightforward affair compared to this high-stakes game of chess Wesley, Angel, and their friends were attempting to play, and he found he did not envy them at all. "If you don't mind, I need to make a phone call."

"Of course," said Wesley, indicating the phone.

"Thank you."

†

Cole opened the apartment door to the sound of the phone ringing. He ran to answer it and Oz followed, kicking the door shut with a hind leg, very eager to wash the vampire's blood out of his mouth.

"Hello?" said Cole.

"Er, hello," said an unfamiliar voice on the other end. "Is, er, Oz in at the moment?"

"Uh," said Cole. He covered the mouthpiece and looked over at his roommate, who was now perched on the kitchen counter, rinsing the dried blood from his muzzle and front paws in the sink. "Oz!" Cole hissed.

The wolf looked up at him, water streaming from his fur.

"Some British guy is on the phone for you."

Oz immediately perked up. _Giles?_ he thought desperately, wishing very badly that he could speak.

"Is that who you were trying to call before?" Cole asked.

Oz nodded quickly.

Cole removed his hand from the mouthpiece. "Are you Giles?" he asked.

"Yes," said the voice on the other end in a tone of surprise. "Er, what has Oz told you?"

"Everything," said Cole. "I'm putting you on speaker." He pushed the button and put the handset down. "Say hi, Oz."

Oz gave a loud bark.

"Good Lord, boy!" Giles exclaimed. "Is he locked up?"

"Uh...no...," said Cole, giving Oz a mystified look. "Why; should he be?"

Oz kicked himself mentally for not having told Giles about this. How could he have been so stupid? He had gotten so caught up telling him about things he encountered that he forgot to mention what had happened to him!

"You mean to say that he's not currently dangerous, though he is in his transformed state?" said Giles in disbelief.

"Well, he's dangerous if you're a vampire," Cole chuckled.

"This is astounding!" said Giles. "When did—"

"Look," said Cole impatiently, "Oz has been driving himself and everyone else insane with worry ever since he saw the news report about Sunnydale and the sudden nonexistence thereof, so you'd better start explaining what's going on."

"Who are _you_?" said Giles, annoyed.

"Cole, Oz's roommate," he replied. "And while you're explaining, you might add how my girlfriend just became a Slayer."

"Oh. I see. Oz, I'm terribly sorry you had to endure all that needless worry. I should have called yesterday when we first made it to the hotel, but things were still rather hectic, what with caring for all the injured girls, and I forgot. Willow is fine, Oz." Oz almost collapsed with joy and relief. "Buffy, Xander, Dawn, Faith...all fine. Most of them suffered some fairly bad injuries, but they'll be fine. Anya...didn't make it. Nor did Spike. Rather heroic end, that one had, but..." He trailed off, and Oz bowed his head.

"Hang on," Cole interrupted again, "if Buffy and Faith are both fine, then how is Alex a Slayer? Oz said you only get a new one when the current one dies."

"We've got Willow to thank for that," said Giles. Oz stared at the phone, confused. "During the battle yesterday, she succeeded in casting a spell that permanently undid the law of one Slayer per generation, causing every girl in the world who might have been a Slayer to actually become one."

Cole let out a low whistle.

"My thoughts exactly," said Giles.

_Nobody like my Willow_, thought Oz in awe.

"Was that everything you wanted to know?"

Cole looked inquiringly at Oz, who nodded. "Yeah," he translated.

"Right, well, there are some important matters to address now that's cleared up," said Giles, his tone becoming businesslike.

"Let's hear it," said Cole.

"Well, now that we've made short work of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, I rather thought, and Buffy and the others agree, that we should bring the new Slayers and do the same to the one in Cleveland. Though if at all possible, _without_ destroying the city."

"Yeah, that'd be better," said Cole, alarmed.

"Buffy and I are in Los Angeles at the moment, and we've just dropped off Dawn. She will be staying with a friend, attending school with her and the liked— at least until we've closed the Cleveland Hellmouth as well. The others are already heading east in the, er, school bus on which we escaped. They should arrive late tomorrow, or early the day after. Thanks to Angel's suddenly rather abundant funds, we've managed to secure housing arrangements for everyone, so that won't be a problem. Buffy and I are apparently going to arrive by way of Angel's private jet around noon tomorrow. If we could meet you at the airport, that would be excellent."

Again, Oz nodded.

"How will we find you?" asked Cole.

"I believe you would simply have to ask an attendant where the Wolfram and Hart jet is arriving," said Giles.

"Okay. I guess we'll see you tomorrow," said Cole.

"Yes. Er, until then, I suppose," said Giles.

†

After replacing the phone in its cradle, Giles turned to face Wesley once more. "I presume everything is in order, then?" Wesley asked.

"Er, indeed, though I'm fairly baffled as to Oz's situation," said Giles.

"I'd noticed," said Wesley, who had observed that end of the conversation with some amusement. "You must phone and explain that one to me once you're better informed."

"Oh, certainly," said Giles. "Now, I'm not overly familiar with the background of this firm. It is evil, though, yes?"

"Without a doubt," said Wesley. "The frightening thing is that they not only have virtually unlimited resources within their grasp, but they actually have the law on their side. Hopefully we'll prove to be their Trojan Horse. At any rate, their less than honest dealings have lent us another small victory." He handed Giles another file from his desk. Giles opened it to find a picture of Faith.

"New identity?" he guessed. The name by the picture was Hope Torrence, and the file contained everything from a birth certificate and school records to a passport. Beneath these was a convincing report of Faith Lehane's death.

"Angel felt her redemption would be better served fighting evil without having to worry about being a fugitive, especially given her remarkable performance in recent situations," said Wesley.

"I concur," said Giles.

†

"This is your apartment?" Buffy asked doubtfully as Angel showed her around the penthouse. "'Cause it doesn't really have an Angel vibe. It's all…sparse and postmodern-y. Or, what I think postmodern-y looks like, anyway."

"That's sort of the point," said Angel. "I don't want to feel at home here."

"Right. 'Cause of the whole evil law firm thing. I can see how getting comfy would be bad." She stopped her examination of their surroundings and turned around to look at him closely. "Are you sure you know what you're getting into with all this?"

Angel sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm not sure about any of it," he said. "It makes my skin crawl just being in this building."

"Then why _are _you in this building, Angel?" she asked, sitting down next to him and taking his hand in hers.

"Because signing on was the only way I could save someone I love."

Buffy smiled. Somehow, this didn't surprise her at all.

"Wolfram and Hart has a lot of resources. I don't know if it's possible to use them for good, but I'm going to try."

She reached up with her free hand and gently turned his face towards her. "Just don't let them turn you into someone you're not."

He didn't say anything, but he looked so intently into her eyes that it felt like his very soul was pleading for reassurance and strength from hers. It was the same way he used to look at her, back when he still lived in Sunnydale and thought hell was where he belonged, and it affected her deeply to see such clear proof that, despite everything that had happened since, she meant just as much to him now as she had then. She slid her hand around to the back of his neck as his gaze dropped to her lips. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop him if she wanted to, he leaned forward and kissed her.

This was no mere hello kiss. Though it began slow and tender, passion quickly ignited between them in such a way as they had not allowed it to in years. Right now, the only things that seemed to matter were that they were alone in his apartment, sitting on his bed, she had just won _and_ survived the biggest battle of her life, and tomorrow they would be on opposite sides of the country. If not for a sharp twinge from her not-quite-healed stab wound, they might not have stopped. As it was, she broke away from him with a hiss of pain, pressing her hand to the exit wound.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a ragged voice.

"Yeah," she said, trying to regain control of her breathing. "It's just my favorite souvenir from the battle acting up a little." Not touching him hurt far more than the injury did, but reality had already firmly intruded with all the reasons she shouldn't be touching him, and she managed to resist the urge to pick up where they left off. Her ability to resist was tenuous, however, and she didn't trust it to hold out if she remained this near to him for much longer, especially when she knew he was just as close to the edge of that cliff as she was. "Was, uh, was that shower offer open-ended, or just a one time deal?" she asked.

†

Cole opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and frowned. "I guess the whole discussion and analysis of what he just said is out for now, huh?"

Oz gave what almost sounded like a laugh, though it still mostly resembled a growl, and nodded.

"In that case," said Cole, "I'm just going to go pass out until morning." He ran his fingers through his hair, noticing upon doing so the thick trail of dried blood running from his forehead to his chin. Probing gingerly around for the source of the blood, but not managing to find anything that felt too serious, he joined Oz by the sink, feeling slightly sick. The water ran red as the blood washed off Oz's fur and Cole's face. After drying off, Oz leapt down from the counter, and the two of them parted in the hallway that led to their rooms. When Cole reached his, he simply flopped on his bed and let his exhaustion carry him off to sleep. There would be time later to think about everything that had happened.

Oz, on the other hand, merely sat on his own bed and stared out the window. Willow was alive and would be coming to Cleveland. This knowledge had unleashed a wild storm within him, and there was no way he would be sleeping any time soon. He doubted he'd ever felt such an array of contrasting emotions.

Irrepressible longing. To see her, to smell her, to hear her voice, to wrap her in his arms again... No, he told himself sternly. Not that last one.

Anger. At himself. He had removed himself from her life. He had no right to even consider the possibility that he still belonged in it, even if she _was_ coming to Cleveland.

Fear. The last time he saw her, he had completely lost control. What if it happened again? It had taken him two and a half years to get to where he was now. He didn't think he could handle going to pieces again.

Joy. His or not, Willow was alive.

Pride. She had come so far from her pencil-floating days. More importantly, it seemed she had completely recovered since the year before. The idea of Willowd— beautiful, kind, caring Willowd— overcome by such darkness, rage, and pain, had been almost impossible to bear. The need to comfort her had been difficult to repress, and doing so had unleashed the wolf... But now, she was clearly back in control. Oz knew better than most how terrifying it could be to lose that, and he was happier than he could express in words—even if he had been able to use them—that Willow was no longer struggling. That she had found stability in her power, as he had.

Anxiety. He was going to see her within the next thirty-six hours. He didn't even know how to begin to deal with that. How was he supposed to act around her? How would she react to seeing him? Would she be happy to learn about what he had accomplished, assuming it wasn't undone in her presence? Of course she would. She was Willow! Of course she would care. But no. He couldn't think about that. Thoughts like that would only lead to

Hope.

†

When Buffy emerged from the bathroom, having just taken what was probably the best and most relaxing shower of her life, she found that Angel was already asleep. For a second, she glanced towards the couch in the living room area, but then decided against it. After tonight, she probably wouldn't see Angel for a very long time, and Cleveland was a lot farther away from Los Angeles than Sunnydale had been. Why waste the last few hours she had with him now? The urgent passion from before had cooled, so there was no longer any immediate danger. She could handle this. As unobtrusively as she could, she slipped under the covers and snuggled up to him. Sleep had begun to claim her when she felt his arm slide around her middle and pull her closer.

†

"Hey, Cole," said Oz. Cole stirred, looking groggily over at his roommate, who was peering in at him from the doorway.

"Nngh," was all he managed.

Oz chuckled. He never thought he would meet someone who was less of a morning person than himself.

Cole rubbed his eyes and fumbled for his alarm clock. Oz watched, amused, as he squinted for a full ten seconds at the numbers and hands before his brain registered that it was ten o'clock. "Okay," he said, "I'm up."

"Good. I figured we should get Alex before we pick up Buffy and Giles. So I can give her the, uh, 'director's cut' version." He was glad he had managed to fall asleep. Granted, it had only happened somewhere around four in the morning, but five or so hours of sleep would sustain him far better than none through what would likely prove a very strange day.

"I'll get ready," said Cole thickly.

"I'll call Alex," said Oz as he left the room.

When Alex's mother picked up the phone, Oz automatically delivered the only Italian he had ever learned (which he had learned in the first place for this exact purpose), "Pronto, Signora Romano! Posso parlare a Alexandria?"

"Un momento," she said, then shouted away from the phone, "Alexandria! Qualcuno è sul telefono per voi!" After a few seconds, Oz heard the successive thuds of Alex descending the stairs.

"Grazie," said her voice. Then, "Hello?"

"Hey, Alex," he said.

"Oz!" she said. "What's up?"

"Kind of a lot," he said, "You wanna come over?"

"Yeah," she said. "When?"

"Cole's still getting ready, but how about right after that?"

"Sounds good."

"And, uh. We'll be going to the airport around noon to pick up some old friends of mine."

"So they're alive?" she asked, "Oz, that's great!"

"Yeah," he said, his voice suddenly weak as the relief washed over him yet again. "So, see you in a few minutes?"

"Great. Ciao!"

"Bye." Oz could still hear the water going in the bathroom. Running his fingers through his spiky, currently strawberry blond hair, he walked to the kitchen and opened the tiny pantry. The only thing in there that hadn't expired and required no effort to prepare was a box of slightly stale blueberry Pop-Tarts. He pulled out a packet and removed the wrapper, just as Cole re-emerged, looking considerably more alert.

"Here," said Oz, tossing Cole one of the Pop-Tarts. They ate them as Oz grabbed the keys and they left the apartment.

†

Buffy opened her eyes slowly. She was bathed in warm, comfortable sunlight and felt more rested than she had in months.

"Good morning," said Angel's voice softly. Buffy rolled over to smile at him, but then her eyes went wide, and she leapt up.

"Angel, quick, get out of the sun!" she cried frantically, attempting to pull the covers up and over him, but he merely laughed and held her at bay.

"Buffy, calm down. They did something to the windows. I'm not going to be bursting into flames any time soon," he reassured her.

"Oh," she said. She stared intently at him, awed at the novel sight of Angel in sunlight. She wanted very much to kiss him, but a sudden knock at the door interrupted that thought, and they both scrambled out of bed and into the living room.

"Come in," said Angel, so annoyed that it came out as more of a growl.

The door opened and Fred walked through, dressed in a white lab coat and looking slightly embarrassed.

"Morning, Angel," she said, before turning to Buffy with a smile. "And you must be Buffy." They shook hands. "I'm Fred."

"Nice to meet you," said Buffy, immediately taking a liking to her despite her awful timing.

"The jet's ready, whenever you are," said Fred.

"Thanks," said Angel.

Fred looked from him to Buffy and back again. "So, I'll, um, just let you two say goodbye," she said awkwardly before making a hasty retreat.

"She seems nice," said Buffy.

"She is," said Angel fondly. "And she's come a long way from the crazy girl we rescued from Pylea two years ago."

"Sounds like there's an interesting adventure in there," she said, intrigued.

"If we ever get time, we can swap stories."

"I'll hold you to that," said Buffy with a mischievous smile. It faded quickly, however, and she looked down at the floor, twisting her hands together. "But I don't think it'll happen for a while." Angel moved closer and gently hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up until she met his eyes. "Why does it always feel like we're saying goodbye?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I don't think either of us has ever gotten around to actually saying it."

"Let's keep it that way."

†

Buffy followed Giles resignedly onto the small jet. She was too preoccupied even to realize that this would be her first time flying. She was leaving behind the two of the people who meant more to her than she could describe in words, heading to a place she had never been and the untold evil there. Angel and Dawn. Her fists clenched, and she resolved that moment that whatever Cleveland threw at her, she wouldn't let it stop her from seeing them again. As they took their seats and buckled in, Giles glanced over at her. His eyes crinkled with affection as he saw the expression of sheer determination etched on her face. What an incredible woman his charge had become. He doubted whether any father could have felt prouder.

†

Unanimous vote had decreed that instead of returning to the apartment, Oz, Cole, and Alex would simply wait in the parking garage of the airport until it was time to find Buffy and Giles. They passed the time as Oz recounted to Alex what he had already told Cole.

"Okay. So all these people are coming here now—except Buffy's sister?" said Alex.

"Pretty much," said Oz.

"And the same thing that was in Sunnydale is here in Cleveland?"

"Our very own Hellmouth," he confirmed grimly.

"What fun," said Cole.

"Time to go," said Oz, looking at the radio clock. They all got out of the van.

†

Buffy gratefully descended the short flight of steps leading down from the plane, relieved to feel her queasiness ebbing as her feet touched solid ground. She had decided that she didn't much like flying, no matter how fascinating it had been to watch the snowy ridges of the Rocky Mountains, tiny spiderwebbing networks of streets that made up the large cities, or the patchwork of fields crisscrossing the central states passing underneath.

Giles followed close behind, thoroughly unaffected by the flight. It had, after all, been nothing compared to his all too frequent transatlantic ones. He was also unsurprised to see the who was waiting yards away from the foot of the steps to greet them. Buffy looked over at the four people standing there. One was a burly, severe looking airport security man who warily regarded the other three. Closest to him was a girl with a rather pointed lime green-on-black color scheme that even spoke for her hair. She twirled a wooden drumstick in one hand and leaned casually with her elbow propped on the shoulder of the tall, lean, dark-haired young man next to her. Standing next to them—only, half a head lower—was...

"_Oz?_" she said, sure her eyes were playing an incredibly random trick on her.

"Hey, Buffy. Giles," he replied, slightly amused at Buffy's unflatteringly astonished expression. "Been a while." At that point, the guard rolled his eyes and, deciding this group wasn't worth missing his lunch break for, wordlessly left them to their little reunion.

"Oz," said Giles, calmly inclining his head.

Buffy rounded on him. "How come you don't seem to be mind-blown by this?" she asked suspiciously.

Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them slowly, while Oz's amusement and Buffy's irritation grew. His glasses securely back on, Giles was out of stalling time. He cleared his throat. "Oz, er," he began awkwardly, "has been my contact regarding paranormal activity around this area for nearly three years now. It seems to have been rather lighter than in Sunnydale."

"You've known where Oz was for _that long_, and you didn't tell us..._why_?"

Giles looked imploringly at Oz, who came to the rescue.

"I told him not to," he said.

"How come?" Buffy asked, not sure whether she found that wise or ridiculous.

"I didn't want you guys worrying about me," he said, shrugging. He wasn't going to tell her or anyone else the rest of the reason.

"You could have been dead, for all we knew, and you thought not telling us that you were at least okay was a good plan?" she said. Oz didn't have a reply to that. He knew how it felt not knowing. Finally, he opened his mouth again.

"Maybe it was stupid," he said, "but I can't do anything about it now. I'm sorry."

Buffy sighed. She had long since gotten over her resentment at his departure, and didn't want him to take this the wrong way. "It's _good_ to see you again, Oz. More than just to know you're still alive. Now, are you going to introduce your friends?" She smiled at the two standing next to him, both of whom had watched the conversation with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry. Buffy, Giles," said Oz, "meet Cole and Alex."

"Are you guys in Oz's band?" asked Buffy, noticing Alex's drumsticks again.

"No," said Alex, "he's in our band."

"Illogical Stop Sign," said Cole.

"Always the unusual names," said Buffy.

Oz smirked.

"We've got a gig on Friday, if you want to come," said Alex.

"Could be fun," said Buffy. No reason for this to be a business only stay. She imagined everyone else would be itching to get out as well, especially after the long bus ride.

"Forgive me for breaking up this lovely chat," said Giles, "but I believe that airport man over there is glaring at us." The other four looked around and saw that he was quite right, so they all hastily made their way to the luggage cart and departed for the parking garage with the bulging bags. Once in the van, Giles gave Oz instructions and Alex turned eagerly to Buffy.

"So, you're a Slayer too—I mean, like _the _Slayer?" she asked.

"Whoa, wait, _you're_ one?" said Buffy. The mass Slayer activation spell might have been her idea, but its effects continued to amaze her.

"Yeah," said Alex, grinning. She rapped the right door with her knuckles. "I accidentally tore this thing off the van two days ago."

"It looks fine...," said Buffy, puzzled.

"That's because I spent most of yesterday fixing it back on," said Cole.

"Ah," said Buffy. "So, done any slaying yet?"

"Last night," said Alex.

"Got jumped by four vamps," said Oz from the driver's seat.

"That sounds a little excessive," said Giles, frowning.

"No kidding," said Cole.

"And you staked all of them?" asked Buffy, impressed. "Only a day after you got called?"

"Well, I had help," said Alex, "Cole helped me get the first one, I got the second, and then Cole stopped the last from killing me by staking him. Oz got one, too." Alex tipped her head and pointed at the faint traces left from where the vampire had bit her. "Battle scars." Buffy winced.

"Close one, huh?" she asked.

"Very," said Alex, shuddering. Cole put his arm around her and she relaxed. "Definitely not a boring evening."

"I'll bet," said Buffy.

†

"This the place?" asked Oz as he drove slowly up to a large, friendly looking, red-bricked, four-story building about half a mile away from his and Cole's apartment complex. The three already living in Cleveland were sure it had been in disrepair the last time they had passed it.

"That's the address in the information Wesley gave me," Giles confirmed. Oz pulled into the empty lot and parked.

"So this is gonna be Slayer headquarters," said Buffy, looking up at the building with a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction. "Let's check it out."

"Why's it called 'Summers' Academy for Girls'?" asked Cole, looking at the golden letters over the entrance in puzzlement as they all got out of the van.

"We needed to have a good excuse for boarding teenage girls from all over the world," said Giles. "This sort of thing seemed the best option. Not to mention that most of these girls will still be in high school, and should finish it, if at all possible."

"Okay, but why call it that?" Cole pressed.

"It's my last name," said Buffy. _Weird sense of humor, Angel_, she added mentally.

"So does that make you like the headmistress of this place?" asked Alex, snickering.

"I prefer 'general'. 'Headmistress' makes me seem like a stuffy old lady," said Buffy, wrinkling her nose at the idea.

"Whereas 'general' makes you seem like an irritable, short-tempered old man," said Cole.

"I can see why you'd prefer that one," said Oz.

"Yeah," said Alex. "Why go with Miss Minchin when you could be Patton?"

Buffy gave them an annoyed look while Giles, rolling his eyes, swiped one of the key cards in the slot by the door and led the way inside.

"Whoa," said Cole. That about summed it up. They all looked around the vast space. The whole ground floor was one open room, with four thick pillars supporting the ceiling. Large windows alternated with bookshelves along the walls, and the bookshelves were filled with everything a high school student could possibly need for a first-class education. Comfortable sofas and chairs were arranged here and there, as well as two neat rows of cubicle-like desks, four of which held brand new computers. In the far right corner were a few lab tables next to cupboards full of chemicals and lab equipment. In the middle of the room was a vast spiral staircase, which lead to the upper floors as well as the basement.

The basement, which was also one open room, drew squeals of delight from Buffy and Alex. Giles, Oz, and Cole refrained from squealing, but were about as awed by the sight as the girls.

"When Wesley said they were having this place fitted out for our needs, he wasn't kidding," said Giles weakly. Weapons of every kind hung from the walls, and the floor was covered in a thick mat which sank an inch and a half when stepped on.

"I don't think 'it's perfect' quite covers it," said Buffy dreamily. She couldn't have imagined a better training room than this for as many Slayers as would be using it.

"It really doesn't," said Alex.

They then proceeded up the stairs to the second floor. This one was multi-purposed. It contained a kitchen which seemed to be stocked well enough to get fifty people comfortably through a year-long siege, a dining area complete with balcony, and a huge game room, featuring things like _Dance-Dance-Revolution_, an air hockey table, and most noticeably, a TV of freakish dimensions, which was hooked up to several videogame consoles.

"You sure the place that funded all of this is evil?" Alex asked Buffy.

"Definitely," replied the other Slayer without hesitation, "but the new boss isn't." Alex noticed her tone and suspected there was rather more to it than that.

"Next floor?" Oz suggested. They proceeded up the stairs again, Cole reluctantly leaving the Gamecube and X-Box untouched. Both of the upper floors contained twelve spacious two-man rooms, each one fully furnished and complete with its own bathroom.

Having finished the tour, they all returned to the second floor. Buffy and Giles headed for the kitchen where the former nuked a frozen pizza in the microwave for everyone and the latter made tea. Oz, Cole, and Alex wasted no time figuring out the TV so they could play video games_._ Buffy and Giles sat down with their respective refreshments to watch.

Alex sighed, helping herself to a slice of pizza. "I love this place," she said happily, then added in a regretful tone to Buffy, "but my mom won't let me live here."

"Why not?" Buffy asked, frowning.

"Because she's a crazy Italian lady who won't let me move out until I'm married, and won't let me get married until I'm twenty." At this, Cole made a face. Noticing this, Buffy raised her eyebrows.

"What, are you two getting married?" she asked. They hadn't seemed particularly romantic to her, with the exception of that one time Cole had put his arm around Alex in the van. Without pausing in the game, they both nodded.

"They've been going out for longer than I've lived here," said Oz, "It took me two months to figure out that they were a couple."

"I don't understand the lure of these games," said Giles, frowning at the screen.

"Don't try," advised Buffy around a bite of pizza. "There's a whole generation gap rule. I'd probably like them if my life didn't make them seem dull by comparison."

"Oooh, _Halo_!" said Cole, as he scanned the other games on the shelf.

"You don't get to switch games just because I'm winning," Alex protested. Cole then looked at his watch and yelped. The other four turned to stare quizzically at him. "Practice!" he said urgently to Alex and Oz. It was four-thirty. They were supposed to have been practicing the new song with Lorin for the past half hour.

"Right," said Oz, "uh, we have to go." The three of them got up reluctantly and turned off the game. Giles hid his relieved smile at the end of the obnoxious noise behind his teacup.

"No problem," said Buffy, "We'll just get settled in and stuff. And I need to call Dawn. Oh, and all the luggage is still in the van." She and Giles got up as well to help retrieve it.

†

"Where've you lot been?" asked Lorin as the rest of the band hastily took up their instruments.

"Had an errand. Kinda got carried away," Oz explained. Lorin seemed satisfied by this, but looked at them expectantly.

"Oh!" said Cole, remembering, "How'd it go with Sam?"

An enormous grin promptly split Lorin's face from ear to ear.

"Looks to me like she said yes," said Alex.

"That she did!" Lorin confirmed happily. As he looked at Alex, the grin melted off his face. He stared at her with an almost fearful expression for a few seconds before abruptly turning away again. "Let's practice, then," he said as if nothing had happened. Cole exchanged a mystified glance with Alex behind Lorin's back, but they overlooked it and began to play.

†

Buffy's conversation with Dawn had lasted nearly two hours, during which Giles noticed that she neglected to mention more about their fantastic new headquarters than that it was a place they could stay for free. Then Giles spoke to her for a few minutes, glad to hear that she was thus far having a great time with Isabelle, before hanging up.

"Giles," said Buffy, frowning, "Willow, Xander, Faith, and everyone are going to get here in a few hours, right? Maybe sooner?"

"They should, yes."

"So how are we supposed to contact them? I don't feel much like waiting by the 'Welcome to Cleveland!' sign on the highway until they come along."

"No, I suppose not," Giles agreed. His brow creased as he tried to think how to solve such a dilemma, feeling foolish for not having realized it beforehand and preparing. "Oh!" he exclaimed after a moment, smiling. A perfectly simple solution had occurred to him.

"What?"

"We do a tracking spell," he said. "A power-tracking spell, to be more precise. With that many Slayers and Willow all together on one bus, such a spell would likely burn a hole in the map we cast it on, indicating very clearly where they are."

"Well, that works," said Buffy, relieved.

"And the ingredients for such a spell should all be in the kitchen cupboard."

†

Twenty minutes later, they had everything set up for the spell. A large road map of the Midwest was stretched over the dining table, and Giles held a bowl full of herbs while Buffy stood across the table from him.

"Why is it called the Midwest?" Buffy asked in confusion, "It seems pretty East to me."

"Because, at one point, it was the western boundary of the United States, and the name stuck even when Manifest Destiny was realized and the area was left more or less in the eastern half of the country. Now, are we going to finish the spell, or shall I continue giving you a geography lesson?" said Giles with raised eyebrows.

"Spell away," said Buffy meekly.

"Potestas revelio," Giles intoned, throwing the contents of the bowl across the map. He and Buffy watched eagerly. After a few seconds, a tiny, faint dot of white light appeared on the highway about fifty miles outside Cleveland. The light grew steadily brighter until it burst into dancing, blue-white flame.

"That's them," said Buffy. Suddenly, the lights in the room began to flicker as something else glowed on the map. Blotchy reddish black sparked ominously across it, reducing the entirety of Cleveland and much of Lake Erie to ash, singing the table beneath. The lights returned to normal and Buffy and Giles exchanged a worried glance.

"The Hellmouth," they said together. Buffy's growing desire to go back for Dawn and bring her to Cleveland vanished completely. There was absolutely no way she would expose her sister to this, no matter how awesome the new headquarters were.

Giles paced back and forth in front of the couch where Buffy sat allowing his words to wash over her while he thought aloud. "I suspect that the Sunnydale Hellmouth was the one preferred. From what Oz has told me about this city, things have been comparatively quiet here, paranormally speaking. In general, he only ran across maybe one vampire or demon a week, if that. The transfer of evil's focus to this Hellmouth must have been instantaneous after the destruction of Sunnydale. Oz and his friends proved that last night with their run-in against four vampires. Quite the notch up from his usual encounters. And, judging from the burn marks on the table, evil wasted no time setting up shop here. I'm afraid we've a lot of work to do."

Buffy stood, needing to do _something_. "Let's go meet the others," she said.

"What'd we miss?" came Cole's voice from the stairs. He, Alex, and a large wolf came into view, all of them out of breath.

"What'd _we_ miss?" said Alex incredulously. "More like what did _they_ miss!"

"Three more vampires," Cole informed Giles and Buffy, who quickly approached them.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked. Cole had a dark bruise along his jaw and Alex had a cut over her left eyebrow. The wolf's muzzle was stained with blood.

"We're fine," said Alex. "Killed the vamps. The last one broke my drumstick." She held up the two splintered halves of the thing.

"Oz ripped the head off the one trying to bite me," said Cole, rubbing his neck and looking both impressed and sickened at the memory. The wolf quickly ran past Buffy and Giles, heading for the sink.

"Uh...," said Buffy as she stared after him, "Is that...?"

"Oz," finished Giles. Alex and Cole nodded. "He truly has mastered the wolf, then."

"And he's—well, _pretty_ now," said Buffy, remembering the horrible thing he used to turn into. At this, Oz looked up from the sink and gave her an amused quadrupedal bow.

"Yes, well, we should be off," said Giles.

"Right," said Buffy, turning back to Alex and Cole. "Did you guys come in the van?"

"Yeah," said Cole.

"Good. Time to catch a bus."

* * *

Gunn and Lorne cameo. I love those guys, and even if they weren't especially useful in the scene, it was fun including them. The Buffy/Angel scenes. These are actually the new and improved Buffy/Angel scenes, which I adore. The old version of them made me gag and left me with the false belief that I hated fluff. As it happens, well-written fluff that has substance can actually be quite nice.


	4. 8x04: The Sound

Episode 4: The Sound

†

"Why couldn't that evil priest guy have made me deaf instead?" Xander grumbled as the majority of his fellow passengers enthusiastically belted out yet another camp song.

"Part of the whole 'life's not fair' thing, I guess," said Willow. The singing mutated into a cheer and then dissolved into excited chatter as they passed a sign informing them that they were only ten miles from Cleveland.

Thanks to Slayer healing, every girl on the bus was once again in perfect health—Rona had even taken off her cast—, and thanks to Willow's magic, Xander, Andrew, and Wood weren't far from it themselves. Xander hadn't said much for the whole trip, and Willow sat next to him, knowing why. Currently a large factor in the unfairness of life was the reality that things simply hadn't slowed down enough for him to get a chance to properly mourn for Anya. He was grateful for the quiet, comforting presence of his oldest friend. She knew all too well what this felt like. She could have been sitting with Kennedy and joining the others in triumph, but she had chosen instead to sit with him and lend him strength.

Still, he hadn't been able to drown out the cheerful sounds of Andrew and the new Slayers (Faith and Wood preferring _not_ to participate) playing the Alphabet game, Categories, I Spy, Down by the Banks, and singing camp songs. Even Chao-Ahn was having fun, buoyed up by everyone else's cheer even if she understood few of their words, and the constant noise at least served to keep Wood awake as he drove.

"Hey." Faith had worked her way back to the seat in front of them, which she now leaned over.

"What's up?" asked Xander dully.

"Robin and I've been talking," she said.

"What about?" asked Willow.

"'Bout how there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of Slayers around the world now. With the Watchers' Council pretty much down to Giles, those girls don't have anyone to fill in the blanks. Somebody needs to do that."

"So you and Wood are, what, gonna hop the pond and round up Slayers in Europe?" said Xander.

"If I can get out of the country without the cops tracking me down first, yeah. That's the plan," said Faith. "For some reason, Andrew wants to do this too, only he's gonna stay on this continent. Send the ones he finds to Cleveland, probably."

"And what if you can't get out of the country?" Willow asked.

"Someone else is gonna have to go."

"Like us," said Xander, looking at Willow.

Faith shrugged. "Someone who knows the score has to do it. I'm volunteering because, big as Cleveland is, I don't think it's big enough for me and B." There was no arguing with that.

The bus slowed down, then came to a halt. Everyone on it craned around, trying to see why.

"Looks like Buffy and Giles beat us here," said Wood's voice over the speakers. The new Slayers cleared the aisle as Faith, Willow, and Xander moved to the front of the bus. Sure enough, there stood the blond Slayer and her Watcher, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired boy, a girl in lots of green and black, and...a wolf?

The three of them quickly got off the bus and approached the group. The wolf stared fixedly at Willow, who likewise couldn't take her eyes off of him.

"Buffy!" said Xander, hugging her, "How did you beat us here?"

"Angel lent us his shiny new private jet," she said. Xander decided not to explore the subject further.

"Want to introduce your new friends?" asked Faith.

"Oh, yeah," said Buffy, "Okay, Xander, Willow, and Faith, this is Alex. She's a Slayer, too. Already killed...how many now?" Buffy turned inquiringly to the girl in green and black.

"Four, personally. Together, we've taken out seven since last night," she replied, indicating the boy and the wolf.

"And you are?" Xander asked the boy. Faith was eying him with great interest. He certainly ranked high in the good looks department. Alex noticed her less-than-subtle eye-probing, and moved rather possessively closer him, twining her fingers through his. Faith looked amused.

"Cole Knight," said the boy, who had failed to notice the silent rivalry between Alex and Faith. With his free hand, he shook each of theirs.

"And you'll never believe it," said Buffy, "but _this_ is—"

"Oz," said Willow. She was still staring into those light blue eyes. She honestly had no idea how she felt about this, except that it somehow felt normal.

"_Oz_?" said Xander and Faith in shocked unison. The wolf looked away from Willow to each of them in turn, and Willow finally managed to tear her gaze away from him.

"Yes, Oz," said Giles, as Buffy shot a sideways glance at Willow, "but that would take longer to explain than we should probably be spending in the middle of the highway."

"Oh, right," said Xander.

"Just follow us," said Cole. The two groups parted, each going back to their respective vehicles. Willow stole one last glance at the wolf just as he disappeared within a familiar van behind the other four. Once she was back on the bus, Kennedy grabbed her arm and pulled her into a seat with her.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," said Willow, "but we're following Buffy and Giles now." She looked around at Xander, who caught her eye and nodded, and she gladly sat with Kennedy for the final miles of the trip.

†

Oz lay on the floor in the back of the van, his brain reeling. The only thing he was able to consciously discern from his inner maelstrom was relief. Even seeing Willow face to face hadn't shaken his equilibrium with the wolf.

Buffy cast a shrewd glance over her shoulder at Oz. His eyes seemed unfocused. Could he possibly still love Willow? He had never been easy to read, but when he lived in Sunnydale, there had been no mistaking it. He took a bullet for her before they were even dating and was always willing to do anything, even kill, to protect her. Willow wouldn't be alive today if it hadn't been for him. Now Buffy thought about it, he and Willow hadn't been so very different from Angel and herself, except they had seemed to have a better chance of working out.

Willow's reaction to seeing him again was one Buffy hadn't expected. No trace of surprise, not to mention that she had known who he was even though he was a wolf, and not even the same wolf he used to become. Despite this, Buffy doubted very strongly that anything was going to happen. Willow wasn't the same timid girl she had been when she was with Oz, and she had been through a lot since he left. Plus, she had Kennedy, and they were happy. Buffy didn't personally understand that. The relationship was completely different than the one she had had with Tara, to say nothing of the one with Oz. But then, none of her own relationships had been terribly similar to each other, either. She remembered the hostile jealousy Angel and Spike had harbored against each other in her conversations with them in Sunnydale and sincerely hoped it wasn't going to come to that with Oz and Kennedy. Considering what the spell had revealed, they would have quite enough to deal with without love triangle madness in the mix.

When they pulled into the vacant parking lot again, the van's headlights illuminated a teenage girl sitting on the steps. Buffy got out quickly and approached her. She was Asian, her long black hair held back with a headband. She looked about fifteen or sixteen and wore a rather wrinkled school uniform. In her hands, she clutched the straps of a bulging duffel bag and what looked like a comic book. As Buffy approached her, she bowed slightly from the waist.

"Are you Buffy Summers?" she asked, bouncing over each "r".

"Yeah," said Buffy, feeling rather than seeing Giles, Alex, Cole, and Oz come up behind her to look curiously at the girl.

"Ano...," she said, much more nervous with all of them staring at her, and naturally wary of Oz. "I am Kishimatsu Miko."

"What brings you here, Miss Kishimatsu?" asked Giles from behind Buffy's left shoulder. Miko fidgeted, then pulled two things from her pocket and held them out to Giles, who took them curiously. The first was unmistakably a Wolfram and Hart business card, though all but the logo was in Japanese. The second was a slightly crumpled print-out of an email. Giles unfolded it. Most of it was also in Japanese, but a post-script was in English. This he read to the others.

"Immediately after Giles's first visit yesterday, we used the resources we could to find as many of the newly called Slayers as possible. It wasn't a very effective method; we only managed to track down a handful. We sent messages to the ones we found, explaining a little of what had happened, and that someone who could help far better would be in Cleveland, at the Summers' Academy for Girls, if they wanted to go. We also provided for their transport. We won't try to find any more of the new Slayers, in case it causes the firm to take an unwanted interest in the subject. —Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"So, you're a Slayer?" Buffy asked Miko, who jumped at being addressed again. She was clearly experiencing a bad case of culture-shock.

"H-hai," she said.

"Okay, my Japanese is kind of...not," said Buffy, "That meant 'yes,' right?"

"Yes," Giles confirmed.

"Okay," said Buffy, brightening slightly, "Well, you've come to the right place!"

Miko smiled timidly and bowed again. "Arigato, Buffy-sama!" she said. Buffy's bemusement at the younger Slayer's mannerisms was interrupted by a loud screech of brakes, which heralded the arrival of the school bus. All six of them looked over at the bus as the doors opened and the passengers poured out.

Xander was the first to reach the group on the steps, closely followed by Willow and Andrew. "Another Asian chick," he observed. "Does this one speak English?"

"I think so," said Buffy uncertainly.

"Hey, is that the newest installment of _Fullmetal Alchemist_?" said Andrew, looking at the book Miko was holding.

Miko nodded and smiled shyly.

"Wow, not even translated. That's hardcore. I used to get bootlegged fansubs online back when I was a supervillain, but I've missed the last few." There was a pause, and he realized that everyone was staring at him. "So, where are we?" he asked uncomfortably.

"New headquarters," said Buffy.

"And would this be another courtesy of Dead Boy?" asked Xander. Buffy glared at him. He raised his hands in defeat. "Yeah, yeah, gift horse. I'll be quiet now." Buffy turned to face the group, taking a key card Giles offered her.

"Welcome to your new home, everyone," she said, swiped the card, opened the door, and stepped dramatically aside for them to pass.

The new Slayers spent the next couple of hours gleefully exploring the entire building and putting the kitchen to its first test, as they had all gone on only motel and gas station food for the past two days. Alex was the exception, and she soon departed with Cole and Oz. All three of them had their last final the next day and needed a decent night's sleep to recover from their latest vamp encounter before that. Rooms were claimed, showers were taken, and the outfits they had all been wearing for three days were rapidly traded for the fresh clothes Buffy had bought the day before. Once such basic necessities were satisfied, Buffy and Faith were practically dragged to the training room, where they sparred with the younger Slayers again and again, making Buffy profoundly thankful that her accelerated healing had by then sufficiently taken care of the sword wound. The techniques she encountered would require improvement, but any deficiency in that area was compensated for quite well by large amounts of pent-up energy. Having come out of her eighth match against the newbies (the most recent of which was against two at once) feeling as if a wrecking ball had been dropped on her, Buffy wanted nothing but sleep.

"Okay, how about you guys stop harassing us veterans and have a tournament or something," she panted, then staggered determinedly towards the stairs. Faith, who had sparred just as many as Buffy, noticed Robin Wood observing the scene with a wry smirk and decided that the little energy remaining to her could be far better spent.

Buffy had to concentrate hard on placing one foot in front of the other to climb three flights of stairs, but she managed it and finally arrived at her room, where she promptly flopped down, fully clothed, on the nearer of the two queen beds.

"Crazy day, huh?" said Willow from the other bed.

"Full of madness," Buffy agreed. She turned her head to see that her best friend was engrossed in a book. "What are you reading?" she asked.

"_The Hobbit_," said Willow. "It's been a while since I could just, you know, read. It's nice. And I can't sleep."

"I'm about gone...," said Buffy, but then she frowned. "I thought you'd be sharing a room with Kennedy."

"You don't mind, do you?" Willow asked from behind her book.

"Of course not," said Buffy sleepily. "You know you're the only roommate who won't make me crazy."

"That was kind of my idea too," said Willow distractedly, but Buffy had already drifted off.

As Buffy's breathing became deep and even, Willow stared blankly at the same page of _The Hobbit_ she had been on for the past hour. She had chosen this book because, unlike most of the other books in the place that weren't strictly academic, she knew it had absolutely no romance to speak of. She let out an involuntary chuckle. True, this wasn't Istanbul, and she certainly wasn't blue-haired just yet, but she had said she wouldn't be surprised, hadn't she? And she hadn't been. At least, not at first. Now she was in shock. He was the very last person she had expected to see. She felt an odd surge of something that might have been pride when she pictured the wolf. She could remember perfectly well the monster it had once been, and had never imagined that Oz would achieve something like this. But then, nor had she ever thought she would be able to do something like the spell to call thousands of Slayers, yet she had, and it had been such an exhilarating sense of liberation from guilt and everything else binding her down. She was, at last, Willow again, as she had struggled to become once more ever since Tara's death.

†

Giles entered the room as quietly as possible, clutching Wesley's reference book, from which he had read as much as he could between the frequent questions from his many new charges. So far, none of the books he had thought to tell it to become could indicate the Hellmouth's exact location in the city, which was something he felt they should discover as quickly as possible. Glancing around the room, he realized he needn't have bothered with the silent entrance. Xander, his only logical choice for a roommate, being the only other male who would be staying at the Academy longterm, was still awake, sitting by the large window and staring at something he held in his hand. Giles moved closer and realized that it was an old, damaged photo of Xander and Anya, which must have ridden out of the Hellmouth with him in his wallet.

"We were gonna make it work, you know," he said in a hollow voice, not looking at Giles. "Me and An. Guess we can't now."

"I know," said Giles, feeling a strong mixture of sympathy for his loss and discomfort at being present to witness his grief.

"You really do, don't you?" said Xander. "You and Wil both. But in some ways you have no idea." He stood and faced Giles. "Jenny. You knew her a year. Willow knew Tara for two and a half. I've known Anya for _four_. You both got to bury them. All I've got is Andrew's word and the fact that Anya wasn't on that bus. For all I know, Andrew was wrong, and she...she was still alive, trying to get out—and I didn't save her. And don't try to tell me she went out all heroic and noble. Spike's little trick took out every single undead thing down there. Anya didn't even need to _be_ there!" He kicked the side of his bed angrily on the last word.

Through all of it, Giles remained silent. There really wasn't anything that could be said to make this okay.

"Maybe if I'd just married her like I should have, things would be different," Xander went on, the hollowness creeping back into his voice, "Maybe at least then I wouldn't have ruined the last year of her life. You know she went around trying to use her vengeance powers on me? Well, I'd take it all, a thousand times, if it would just bring her back!"

Giles watched as the broken young man before him slid back to the floor with a sob. "Why are you here?" he asked.

It was a moment before Xander could compose himself enough to answer. "Buffy and Willow are all I've got left. And destroying a Hellmouth is important. And, if I'm not doing something..." he trailed off.

Giles did the only thing he could think to do, which was to place a steadying hand on Xander's shoulder.

†

It was almost noon the next day before everyone was awake, as most of them had stayed up ridiculously late for the sparring tournament. Two more Slayers arrived while they were eating breakfast. One was American, the other French. It was after these two had been situated with rooms that Faith found Buffy and pulled her aside.

"What's up?" Buffy asked.

"When we were all looking down into that crater, we said we'd find the other Slayers," said Faith.

"Yeah," said Buffy. Until Giles mentioned the existence of the Cleveland Hellmouth, that had been the only item on the agenda, and she felt slightly guilty for choosing this over it, but it couldn't be helped.

"Well, I think you've got the whole General Buffy thing figured out, and Robin and I want to start finding those girls."

Buffy blinked. "You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Faith. "And Giles gave me this." She handed Buffy a thick folder, which she opened to reveal every legal document Faith needed to become Hope Torrence, whose criminal record was spotless. "Said Angel and Wes got it all worked out for me. So, I am now free to move about the country, or, other countries, which is the point."

"Where will you go?" Buffy asked as she shut the folder and handed it back.

"Figured we'd start off all the cool places," said Faith, shrugging. "England, France, Spain, you know."

Buffy laughed. "Is this a mission or a paid vacation?"

"Well, you've got the sweetest of all sweet setups here, so it balances," said Faith, also grinning.

"True," Buffy agreed.

"And Andrew wants to head up the search on this side of the globe," Faith added.

"By himself?" asked Buffy skeptically.

"Maybe a couple of the rookies'll go with him," she suggested with another shrug.

"All right, you know where; what about when?"

"Tomorrow morning. Got the flight booked half an hour ago," said Faith, pulling the boarding pass print-off from her pocket.

"You really mean business," said Buffy, impressed.

"Well, I figure the best way to keep any of those girls from ending up like me is to find them as soon as possible," said Faith, briefly avoiding Buffy's gaze. "This power isn't something you can just deal with by yourself at first."

†

"Okay guys, listen up," Buffy called loudly ten minutes later. Almost automatically, everyone within range of her voice assembled expectantly in front of her. She waited a moment until Faith arrived at the top of the stairs with everyone who had been on the lower two floors, along with Alex, Cole, and Oz, who had all finished their final and returned to headquarters. She quickly scanned the group and was satisfied that everyone was present. Faith joined her in front of her audience, and she began at last in a commanding, businesslike tone. "Most of you already know why we're here. We're going to destroy the Hellmouth in this city. Problems: we currently don't know where it is, but we know that evil already has a firm hold here." She exchanged a brief look with Giles before continuing, knowing he was also thinking of the burned map.

"It took six and a half years living on the last Hellmouth before I could destroy it, and that only happened with help from many of you here, and others who should be." Here she tried not to think about Spike. She looked at Xander, who stared silently back at her. Regaining her train of thought, she continued. "In those days, being associated with a Slayer meant enormous risk, and being the Slayer meant carrying the weight of the world alone. I gave up my life to save it, as have all the Slayers before me and a couple after me. But now there are hundreds of us. Maybe thousands. We don't have to be alone. We don't have to be crushed by that weight and have the rest of our lives stolen from us, because we're all lifting it together now.

"Still, I won't force you into this. You didn't ask me to share Faith's and my burden with you. Those of you who were in Sunnydale already know the risks. If you'd rather go home, be with your families, have life as usual; go ahead. We don't know what this Hellmouth has waiting for us." Not one of the girls assembled made any sign of wanting to leave. "But we have two missions to complete now. Obviously, to destroy the Hellmouth, but also," she turned to Faith, who cleared her throat and stepped forward.

"Finding all of the other Slayers," she said. "B's gonna stay here and pilot the destruction of the Hellmouth, and I'm heading for Europe to start the search. Anyone wants to come is welcome to. Robin and I'll probably need all the help we can get. And anyone who wants to help Andrew with the search this side of the Atlantic should definitely help him."

Andrew gave a nervous laugh of agreement as the responsibility involved in the path he had chosen for himself seemed to dawn on him.

"Nobody has to decide this second," said Buffy, "but Faith and Wood are leaving tomorrow morning. Now, until we know more about where the Hellmouth actually is, and how to destroy it, all we can really do is patrol. Vi, Rona, Kennedy, Chao-Ahn, you four feel up to being squad leaders?" They all nodded, Kennedy grinning with pride. "And who were the top three in that tournament last night?" Buffy added. Miko, Jordan, and Kat stood up. "Good. You guys are also squad leaders. Before sunset, I want everyone who plans on staying in Cleveland to arrange themselves into groups of three or four and practice fighting together as teams." She spotted Oz leaning against a couch. "Last night of the full moon; you up for patrolling tonight?" she asked him. He nodded. "Great. You, Alex, and Laurel are in my squad for tonight, then. Xander, Willow, Giles? Think you can map out patrolling routes and come up with a tracing system so we don't lose track of anyone?" More nods. "Good. Let's go to work."

Xander waded through the resumed but now focused pandemonium as the new Slayers scrambled to be in the squads they wanted or approached Faith or Andrew to get more details. Finally, he reached Buffy, who broke off her conversation with the timid new French Slayer as gently as possible and followed Xander to the currently vacant kitchen. Once there, he turned to face her, his expression as serious as she had ever seen it.

"Be careful," he said.

"I will," she promised.

"I don't want to lose you," he pressed. She saw his jaw muscles tighten as he fought to keep his emotions beneath the surface.

"You won't," she said firmly, and hugged him. "I love you, Xander."

"I love you too, Buff," he said, his voice defying all attempts to keep from cracking. When they broke apart, he suddenly laughed rather painfully. "If Anya had seen that...," he said. For a moment, he almost expected the ex-demon to appear there, demanding an explanation for such an excessively tender moment between _her_ Xander and the girl for whom he had once harbored strong romantic interests. Then it faded, and all traces of laughter melted from his face.

Buffy too could well imagine it, and her eyes became wet at the memory of her blunt, quirky friend, as well as from the aching sympathy pains Xander caused. Seeming to notice this, he drew a shaky breath and made a valiant attempt to call forth his old self. "You know, you've given some pretty impressive call-to-arms speeches over the years, but you're really getting a head for the battle planning. It was kinda like _Patton_ without the swearing and the gory imagery."

"I did start feeling a little military there at the end," Buffy admitted, then scowled slightly as she recalled Cole and Oz's crack at her preference for "General" over "Headmistress" as a title. "Does that mean I was giving off an irritable, short-tempered old man vibe?" she asked with a pout, earning her the first genuine Xander-laugh she had heard since before the battle at the high school.

†

"I hope I didn't wake anyone up with that," said Buffy into the receiver.

"Nope. You do remember that there's a three hour time difference, right?" replied Dawn dryly.

"Right, so it's only like eleven thirty there," said Buffy.

"Yeah, and everyone else is watching _The Princess Bride_ in the living room. So what's up?"

"Just finished patrolling."

"How'd it go?"

"I think I preferred Sunnydale. You know, the town where you could count the number of dark alleys on your fingers. This place is kind of...enormous."

"Slay anything?"

"Yeah. Ran into a pack of nasty slimy demons which stuck to my shirt when I axed them, and then some vampires. The slay ratio was pretty evenly split in my squad. But Oz in wolf-attack mode isn't fun to watch, let me tell you." She heard Dawn make a sound somewhere between amusement and revulsion.

"What's up with Oz, anyway?"

"He's been here ever since he left. Which makes him pretty helpful to have along when patrolling. Not to mention that the drummer of his band is a Slayer, and she wasted no time adjusting to it. Oh, and Willow, Xander, and Giles figured out this awesome way to keep track of patrolling routes. They've got this map, and the routes are marked in pencil, but then when we're actually patrolling, little lights move around on the map, and if someone gets hurt or in trouble, the lights flash red, which will be Willow's cue to come to the rescue with her healing magic."

"Wow. That sounds very _safe._" said Dawn pointedly.

"_Not_ safe enough for you to be here," Buffy said in a very final tone, before changing the subject. "How are things back in California?" She already felt a twinge of homesickness for the state in which she had spent her entire life.

"The same as when you left _less than two days ago_," Dawn reminded her, and Buffy could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

†

The next morning marked the commencement of Faith and Wood's voyage. Three of the new Slayers had decided to go with them, and Buffy accompanied them to the airport, surprising herself by hugging Faith just before they boarded. She suspected it had a great deal to do with general feelings of sentimentality caused by so many partings in recent days, but she left the terminal feeling fonder of her sister Slayer than she ever had.

Meanwhile, Andrew had somehow managed to procure a new video camera, which he used to melodramatically film his own departure after first following many of the new Slayers around, insisting that they do a re-match of the sparring tournament, so that he could use the footage to help persuade the Slayers he found to join the cause. The two who were accompanying him in his, as he called it, "Quest to seek the Slayers of 'the Vampyres'," had pointed out that they could provide live-action sparring instead. Still, it was well past two in the afternoon before their party actually set off, Andrew finally satisfied with the material he had collected, leaving everyone else mildly exasperated and rather glad to see the back of him.

†

As Buffy had predicted, everyone present was excited at the prospect of spending the hours before patrolling at The Sound, which was the club where Oz's band played. Around sunset, therefore, they all left Summers' Academy for Girls, and walked the mile's distance to the club. To the many new Slayers' delight, it was a fairly large club, and by no means deficient in its quantity of guys.

Willow inwardly marveled at the obvious improvement in quality of music played by Oz's band. She felt slightly awkward dancing with Kennedy to it, but overlooked it. Buffy spent most of the evening with Xander, who, if he wasn't actually enjoying himself, was doing an excellent job of faking it.

"I thought Oz was good when he was with the Dingoes, but now!" Xander marveled after a particularly excellent piece, which had been heavy on the drumming and included a magnificent guitar solo from Oz.

"No kidding!" Buffy agreed, as she and Xander made their way over to where Giles was holed up at a table as far from the dance floor as possible, still poring through the Wolfram and Hart reference book. Willow soon joined them; Kennedy had gone to the bathroom.

"You guys notice anything about the lead singer?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him as she spoke.

"Other than that he's good and kinda hot?" Buffy asked blankly, turning to look at him as well.

"There's something," muttered Willow distractedly. "Magic something." She stared harder, then made a noise of frustration when she failed to identify it.

"Magic what something?" asked Xander.

"I don't know!" she said. Buffy, Giles, and Xander all exchanged a glance before looking up at the singer as well. A few moments later, the latest song ended to a round of applause and cheering. Oz and Cole unstrapped their instruments, Alex came out from behind her drums, and the three of them hopped off the stage and made their way over to where the Scoobies sat. Willow barely noticed their arrival, as she was trying to keep track of the lead singer, who had successfully vanished into the crowd.

"So!" said Xander to the new arrivals. "Alex, right? What's your story?"

"Mom fled Italy with me when I was three, and we've been in hiding from my mafia dad and his crime lord friends ever since. The only reason they haven't found us is because they think we died in the same fire that killed my grandparents." She said all of this with a completely straight face, munching on some of the chips from the nearest table. Xander and Buffy stared at her, and Giles glanced up from his reading.

"She's not kidding," said Cole.

"If you don't believe her, she'll say it again. In Italian," Oz warned.

Alex nodded.

"Okay, then," said Xander, turning to Cole. "What about you? We need to know all about Oz's bestest buds!"

Cole shrugged. "Grew up here. Work at Erie Auto Repair. Play bass. Go to Cleveland State," he said, taking a couple of chips from Alex.

"I think Oz is contagious," Buffy muttered.

"Aha! Found him!" said Willow unexpectedly, making everyone but Oz jump, and then she was off through the crowd.

"What was that about?" said Alex in confusion. "Found who?"

"Wil was getting a magic vibe off your lead singer," Buffy supplied, standing up to see where she had gone.

"Who, Lorin?" asked Cole, bemused.

"Ever noticed anything odd about him?" Giles asked.

"Only in the sense of oddly horrible driving skills," suggested Oz.

"And being a huge spaz, and possibly insane," Alex added. "But, you know, in an endearing way."

"I'm following them," Buffy announced, grabbing her jacket off the table and setting off across the crowd. The others exchanged a look, then went after them.

†

When Willow finally managed to break through the other side of the crowd, the elusive singer had vanished again. She shot a quick glance around the whole club, but couldn't see him anywhere. She hurried outside and finally spotted him again, halfway across the parking lot. He had his arm around a young woman with curly auburn hair, and they were heading for the café across the street.

There was no mistaking it now. Without the din inside the club to distract her, Willow could clearly detect the magic surrounding him. He had used a cloaking spell of some kind on himself.

"Let's see what you really are," she muttered. "Dispel!" she called loudly. A second later, her quarry let out a cry and crumpled to the pavement.

"Lorin!" came the distressed shout of of his companion.

"Willow!" Buffy was the first to catch up with her, closely followed by the others.

"Told you," said Willow smugly as they all drew level with her. As one, their stares moved from Willow to Lorin, who had gotten back to his feet with the young woman's help. Enormous, leathery black wings had burst from his shoulder blades, reducing the back of his shirt and jacket to shreds in the process. He took one look at the seven people staring at him in shock (or, in Willow's case, smugness), and, faster than blinking, had shot up to perch on top of the nearest lamp post.

"Lorin, honey, come down!" said the young woman impatiently. "They saw. Sitting up there isn't going to help."

"Won't it, now?" he replied, as the group still staring up at him approached the base of the lamp post slowly. "Alex an' the blond girl are demon slayers! I don't fancy gettin' slain, meself!"

The girl promptly turned to glare at Buffy and Alex. "Anyone who wants to 'slay' my fiancé will have to go through me first!" she said angrily, her arms folded across her chest.

"Chill out, Sam," said Alex.

"Yeah, we only kill _evil_ demons," said Buffy, who then cast a shrewd glance up at Lorin. "You're not evil, are you?"

"No...," he said slowly.

"_What_ are you, exactly?" Giles asked.

Lorin, apparently satisfied that he wouldn't be attacked without warning, hopped down from the lamp post. His wings fanned out at the last second, so that he landed soundlessly on the pavement next to Sam. Even from this distance, they could see that his eyes had gone from their usual dark brown to a vivid red.

"I take it you're not really from Ireland," said Oz.

"No," admitted Lorin. "Not even this dimension, to be honest. I hail from Azerkeld, and am a citizen of the great nation of Kheldor. I wasn't lyin' when I said I was gettin' sick o' me 'omeland, though."

"Azerkeld?" said Giles, frowning. "I've never heard of it."

"Just as well," said Lorin. "It's a decent enough place, but I very much doubt any o' you 'umans would be received well. The different races native to the world don't even get along, so it's an even frostier welcome fer the inter-dimensional travelers. I came 'ere because I was about to be drafted."

"And we're all sure that nobody wants to kill him?" Sam asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Which of ye lifted me cloakin' spell?" Lorin asked. "Because I'd like it back now."

"Oh, sorry," said Willow, and promptly redid the spell. "There...good as new...," she said uncertainly. She hadn't done a particularly good job patching up his clothes, but the wings were at least gone again.

"Now, if that's all...," said Lorin.

"We'll just leave you to finish off your break," said Buffy with a nervous smile, and Lorin and Sam resumed walking to the café, at a rather quicker pace than before.

"Well," said Cole, "that explains a lot. The car accidents, for one."

"Yeah," Oz agreed, "if you've got wings, Driver's Ed? Probably not in the high school curriculum."

†

"Mr. Giles?" asked Alex tentatively, once they had returned to the table, the others already back on the dance floor. Giles looked up at her from the rather disgusting tea the club had provided.

"Yes?" he asked, then coughed and put the tea down, making a mental note to take it back up to the counter and inquire as to how it could have been so badly botched.

"You're like the expert on Slayer stuff, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course. What did you want to know?"

"Well," said Alex, "It's just that all of these other girls are in high school. Some are as young as fifteen. I'm nineteen. How come I was even called?"

"Oh," said Giles, who hadn't quite expected that, and pondered a while before offering a response. "Quite frankly, you probably wouldn't have been next in line if something had happened to Buffy or Faith. Since the current situation is, needless to say, completely unprecedented, this is mere speculation. However, it is my belief that every girl who is now a Slayer had her moment when she would have been the next Slayer, and then it passed to the next girl, and the next, until finally a new Slayer was actually needed. Your moment may have been years ago, but the important thing is that you _had_ one. You aren't quite old enough yet for that not to matter anymore—though, considering the general sparseness of Slayers your age that we know of, I'd say you're rather close to the cut-off age."

"That makes sense," said Alex. "But I was also wondering something else. Lots of the other girls had Watchers. Kennedy, Vi—they said their Watchers told them where to find Buffy in the first place. But I never had anyone like that." Her tone had become somewhat tinged with hurt jealousy.

"What you told us about your early childhood, with your mother fleeing Italy with you—that was true, yes?" Giles asked.

"Yeah," said Alex.

"Well, in that case, it is likely that more than just your father and the mafia presumed you to be dead. The Watchers' Council was able to track potential Slayers from birth, but they only got the name and location. In most cultures, Watchers aren't assigned until the potential Slayer is ten or eleven years old, and the official reports in Italy must have convinced the Council that you were dead. So, naturally, they neglected to assign one of their number to a dead girl."

"Oh," said Alex, relieved. "I guess now I can stop being paranoid that the mafia will murder mom and me in our sleep. If guys with magic working for them thought we were dead, it definitely worked on the mafia."

Giles smiled. "Was that all you wanted to know?"

"One more thing. Some of the other girls told me about these Harbinger guys who tried to kill them last year, and that they were agents of the First. But I didn't meet any eyeless freaky guys like that ever. Just those vampires the night after I was called, and everything since. Do you think the First thought I was dead too?"

"Not likely. I wouldn't be surprised, actually, if the First had a far more effective way of tracking potential Slayers, what with all of the ones it succeeded in getting killed. However, I think you might thank Oz, with regard to the Harbingers. He didn't know what they were, but late last summer, he phoned and informed me that he had killed two creatures which had seemed to be trying to get to where you were."

†

"Where'd you go?" Kennedy asked. She had come out of the bathroom to a distinct absence of Willow, who had found her again a few minutes later.

"Oh," said Willow, "I noticed something weird about the singer. Turns out, he's a demon from another dimension."

Kennedy's face immediately hardened. "Where is he?" she asked, procuring a stake from one of her pockets and scanning the crowd behind Willow.

"Calm down, he's not dangerous. Just...kinda strange," said Willow. "He has wings and red eyes. Or, without the cloaking spell, anyway. And he's got a fiancée who's human."

"But he's a demon," Kennedy insisted.

"Seriously, relax," said Willow. "Besides, you shouldn't slay the entertainment," she added.

Kennedy leveled her a cold "not the time for jokes" sort of look in response.

"Hey, not all demons are just evil, you know?" said Willow, putting a hand on the one with which Kennedy still clutched her stake. "I mean, there's Angel, Spike, Clem, that funny green guy with the horns I met when I went to L.A. last month, and Oz—well, if you count werewolves as demons, anyway." Grudgingly, Kennedy replaced the stake in her pocket. "Come on, this is supposed to be fun party time. Slaying time isn't scheduled to start for another two hours."

At that point, Buffy and Xander came over to inform them that the band was back up. With their help, Willow finally got Kennedy out of slay mode and onto the dance floor, where she soon loosened up, though she still periodically shot suspicious glances up at Lorin as if she expected him to suddenly lunge at an unsuspecting crowd member.

* * *

Okay, author's note. Andrew's FMA reference was added in the April 2011 edit. I wish I'd thought of it sooner. Xander's breakdown. I am so proud of that scene. Willow rooming with Buffy instead of Kennedy. The Willow/Kennedy relationship went way too fast, in my opinion (I would have hated it even if it had gone slowly, but that's not the point). This is not because of Oz. Willow is trying to put some space between herself and Kennedy, because now that the immediate looming threat of the Sunnydale Hellmouth is no more, she's kind of realized the previous hastiness, and regrets it. Also, I don't want to write scenes involving Willow and Kennedy alone in their room EVER, so this way I don't have to. Ha! Moving on. The "aww" moment between Buffy and Xander. I love that scene. Xander's grief needed to be addressed by everyone else in the core four, and each in different ways, so this was perfect. Buffy's "let's go to work". Yes, that was a direct shout-out to Angel's last line in "Not Fade Away". Very much on purpose. Alex's mafia dad. I added that purely for Xander's reaction. Also, it does explain why she never had a Watcher. Demon Lorin. In that independent project he's in, he really is a demon with huge bat-like wings and red eyes. He didn't like being a human civilian in the fanfic, even if he did get his girl. So I added that for this episode's twist. Kennedy's bias against Lorin. She seems like the type to not want to make exceptions in the demons equal bad rule. Faith, Wood, and Andrew leaving. I like Faith, and especially her dynamic with Wood, but there's really nothing I can do with her at this point in the story. So she left. I don't like Andrew being part of the group, so he left too. I did my best to make his send-off as Andrew-like as possible. Besides, their quest to find the other Slayers is valid, so it works.


	5. 8x05: Beach Party

Episode 5: Beach Party

†

Thursday, August 7, 2003

The inhabitants of Summers' Academy for Girls had spent a long, slayage filled summer, but were still no nearer pinpointing the exact location of the Hellmouth. Buffy's strategy of using squads for patrolling had proven highly effective in casualty-prevention, though had been modified slightly as more Slayers trickled in. Now, they rotated so that two squads at a time could take the night off, and a third would serve as back-up if an active squad ran into something bigger than the average-sized vampire nest or demon hide-out. Willow had only needed to come to the rescue with healing spells twice so far, and the nightly field practice coupled with daily training had honed the young Slayers to be almost on par with Buffy herself.

However, while exciting, the summer had been largely work, with only occasional play. The only major exception, aside from regular trips to The Sound, had been the Fourth of July party. Cleveland city law permitted fireworks from eight to midnight on the holiday, and Xander had surprised them all by showing up with a gross of the best fireworks he could find, as well as his own recently acquired license to launch them. Oz, Cole, and Alex managed to talk Lorin into performing in front of an audience almost exclusively comprised of Slayers. The party had taken place on the roof of the headquarters building, and lasted long after the final firework was launched.

Now, at the beginning of August, what with the weather being so clear and warm and with recent demon activity the lightest it had been for a few weeks, Buffy saw the perfect opportunity to give everyone another break. This came in the form of a trip to the nearby shores of Lake Erie, where Illogical Stop Sign and some other local bands had set up a back to school beach party.

Contrary to form, Giles was all too happy to allow Buffy, Willow, and Xander to take the many young Slayers to the party. He found it hard to believe that he had once considered Buffy to be tiresome, now that he was effectively Watcher to dozens of squealing, hyperactive, superpowered teenage girls of many cultures and habits that did not always mix well, not to mention very much their own opinions of how much in the way of chores they should be required to do. If he hadn't appreciated how far Buffy had come since that age before, he was painfully aware of it now—quite literally, what with the migraine that had become his almost constant companion over the past few months.

†

The beach was crowded with local high school kids and college students returning to school, so the party did not disappoint. Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Kennedy were playing rather chaotic two-a-side water volleyball, with the occasional additions of some of the new Slayers, though most had dispersed into the crowd on the shore. Illogical Stop Sign finished the last song of their run to encouraging cheers from the crowd, bowed out for the next band, and joined the group in the water—with the typical exception of Lorin, who was still rather wary of Slayers other than Alex, and anyway preferred to spend the afternoon with Sam.

"Where's Giles?" Oz asked the group at large as the game went on.

"Are you kidding?" asked Buffy incredulously, raising her voice to a shout as the next band began to belt out raucous heavy metal. "He's taking this opportunity to get some of the only peace and quiet he's had all summer."

"Still not the party animal, huh?" Oz commented, somehow making himself heard without departing from his normal decibel range.

"Really really not," said Xander, whose momentary inattention earned him a volleyball squarely to the left side of his face, courtesy of Kennedy, who laughed. "Yeah, yeah, take advantage of the guy with one eye, I see how it is!" he called, attempting to retaliate, thought the ball went wide of Kennedy by a couple of yards, giving Willow the opportunity to spike it back. Alex and Cole quickly joined their side, while Oz and one of the more water-prone Slayers, Jordan, evened things out for Buffy and Xander. The game went on for nearly an hour, ending in complete chaos when everyone forgot about the ball and engaged instead in water fights, with the result that all eight of them were thoroughly drenched but happy when they returned to shore.

"Check it out, guys!" said Xander once they relocated the patch of beach they had claimed on arrival. "Eye-patch tan!"

"Did you not put sunscreen on?" Kennedy asked.

"No mere rays of sun will scorch the mighty Xander Harris!" he scoffed, before beginning to shake his head like a dog, sending water droplets all over everyone.

"Wanna put money on that?" asked Alex innocently.

"Hey, Matt!" Cole shouted, having spotted a group of guys from his class farther inland. Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Kennedy sat under a large umbrella as Oz, Cole, and Alex went off to catch up with their classmates, who were heading for a dock with their boat to get set up for jet-skiing. Kennedy was quickly hauled off for another volleyball game with the other Slayers, but Willow was too tired from the first to accompany her.

"Hey, man," said Oz when they caught up with Matt and his friends. He and Matt knocked fists.

"Sweet tunes, dudes," said Lynn, who shared Alex and Cole's psych class the year before.

"Thanks," said Cole.

"When did you guys get the boat?" asked Alex, running a hand along the shiny new craft appreciatively. She had spent enough time at Cole's auto shop—which frequently catered to the needs of boatmen during the summer—to recognize a good boat when she saw one. Oz lifted his purple-tinted sunglasses so he could see the actual colors of the paint job: white, with a royal blue dragon curling up the side.

"Dad bought it for my senior year," said Nate proudly. He played keyboard for another band that frequented The Sound.

"We can take you guys out on the next trip," said Matt, "Capacity is four passengers, though."

"No problem, we're kinda wiped anyway," said Cole.

"Good to see you guys," said Alex. "We'll leave you to the jet-skiing." The three of them returned to sit by where the others had stretched out on the beach. Before long, Cole and Alex vanished in pursuit of an ice cream vendor, leaving the space between Oz and Willow suddenly and uncomfortably vacant.

"You guys done playing for the day?" Willow asked.

"What?" said Oz, caught off-guard at being directly addressed by her.

"The band," said Willow, blushing slightly, then mentally kicking herself. She and Oz had kept conversation determinedly sparse and painfully polite throughout the summer. This had proven a rather awkward strategy, considering that, with the Slayers on patrol, it often happened that Giles, Xander, and Cole were the only other people around whenever they were in the same room.

"Oh," said Oz. "Yeah, we're done." Just then, Kennedy bounded back up to them, having managed to escape the volleyball game when everyone else involved left to dance instead. Willow jumped when she sat next to her and clasped one of her hands with both of hers.

"Hey, Oz," said Kennedy cheerfully. "You guys were great. Was that last song new?"

"Yeah," he said, hoping she wasn't keen on making a long discussion of it. "First time we played it outside of practice."

"Cool," she said.

"It was pretty good," Xander agreed. "How long does it take you guys to go from planning to performing?"

"It varies," said Oz, glad someone else had joined the conversation. "That one only took a month, but some can take upwards of a year. However long it takes to make it work, you know."

"Well," said Buffy, grunting slightly as she got up, "I think those two had the right idea about the ice cream. I'll catch you guys in a minute."

Once she found the concessions stand, it took nearly half an hour to get through the line, but she finally came away contentedly licking the drips off her precariously stacked cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip cone. She strolled casually down the beach, occasionally hailed by another Slayer, until she reached a dock and walked to the end, intent on dangling her feet off the edge while she finished her ice cream.

She was down to biting chunks off the cone itself when she caught sight of a white boat far off on the lake. She watched it as she finished her cone. They were clearly jet-skiers, and no novices at it, from what little she knew of the sport. Cone finished, and fingers licked clean, Buffy stood, secured the towel she had tied around her waist, and headed back to where the others still sat.

A cloud passed over the westward-bound sun. "Is it supposed to get like this in mid-afternoon?" came Xander's puzzled voice just as Buffy drew within earshot.

"No, it's not," said Alex, her eyes narrowing as she stared past Buffy towards the lake. Buffy turned to see what they were talking about, and her eyes went wide. When she had been looking out at the jet-skiers less than three minutes ago, the horizon had been completely clear, but now, a thick silver mist was obscuring the line where lake met sky, and drawing steadily closer to shore.

"What _is_ that?" asked Kennedy, standing up. At the edge of the mist, the previously calm water had grown choppy and violent. More clouds now completely obscured the sun, quickly giving the impression that night had fallen early. Within moments, all of the Slayers had gathered back to their spot on the beach, sharing their apprehension about the sudden oddness of the weather.

"Whatever it is, party's over," said Buffy. Sure enough, as if on cue, rain began to fall, growing steadily into a downpour. Through its pounding, they heard shrieks as people hurried out of the water to rescue their previously dry towels on the beach.

†

"_Headshot!_" said the game narrator.

"Hah! I defeated a Slayer!" said Xander triumphantly. "Without depth perception!"

"Don't get used to it," Kennedy grumbled, waiting for her character to respawn. Her roommate was still showering, and Xander had already finished, so, bored, she had agreed to play _Halo_ with Xander.

"So, I'm impressed by the way you're so friendly with Oz," said Xander, trying to draw the conversation away from a "Kennedy getting angry with him" direction, which tended to end painfully.

"Why would that impress you?" said Kennedy indifferently. "Oz is cool. Last full moon, he patrolled with my squad. That boy can fight."

"So I've heard," said Xander with the slightest tinge of bitterness as that old sense of being less than useful crept up on him. "Still, what with his and Willow's history," Xander went on, "I mean, compared to the way Buffy's beaus were kind of mortal enemies—or, immortal enemies in the case of Angel versus Spike, you and Oz are pretty cool about it." At a sudden loud crunching sound, he jumped and looked from the screen to Kennedy, who had been gripping her controller so tightly that it had shattered. Xander's eye widened. "Uh...you didn't know about that, did you?" he realized far too late.

†

"Well, the party _was_ fun," said Willow. Like most of the other inhabitants of the building, she and Buffy were still cleaning up. Buffy currently had the shower, and Willow was toweling the last traces of hers from her legs.

"Until random freak-weather from nowhere," said Buffy.

"Yeah," said Willow, frowning.

"Anything magical about it?"

"It was hard to tell. There was still all that noise from the party, but I don't think so. If magic had caused it, it should have been powerful enough for me to pick it up with no trouble."

"What did our Ohio natives have to say about it?"

"Cole said lake weather could be funky, but he'd never seen anything like that, and he's been going to the lake almost every summer as far back as he can remember."

"I asked Giles to see if there's anything that could be connected to it when you were showering."

"How's his day been?"

"Well, since he wasn't acting like he has a migraine like he usually acts lately, I'd say it was a good day for him."

Willow laughed. "Poor Giles. I wonder if he ever wishes he'd been the one to go Euro-touring instead of Faith and Wood."

"I'm so glad he didn't," said Buffy, "I don't know how we'd keep things together without him here."

"I know what you mean. It's good to have him around full-time again," Willow agreed, but the combined noise of the blow-dryer she had just turned on and Buffy's shower prevented further conversation.

Half an hour later, when they were both at last dried and dressed, they went down two flights of stairs to find Giles sitting on the sofa nearest the computers. It and the coffee table in front of it, currently tea-laden, had become his unofficial private research space in the last month, as he had grown weary of trying to concentrate on the same floor as the TV. Unexpectedly—to Giles, at least—, Buffy and Willow both hugged him warmly in greeting before the former asked what he had found so far.

"I'm not sure I've found anything necessarily useful yet," he admitted, still a bit perplexed by the hugs, though pleased all the same, not to mention rather touched. He cleared his throat gruffly and flipped back a few pages in the reference book, running his finger down the chart on the right side. "Er, weather reports as far back as they've been kept put this at an unusual, though not unheard of phenomenon. It's happened fairly regularly about once every ten years, around the end of summer."

"So you think it might just be normal Great Lakes weirdness?" asked Willow.

"It could be," said Giles, "but I'll keep looking. There may be some Hellmouth-related cause, which, if that be the case, could help us locate it at last, or it could be some independent weather-altering force."

"Tonight's my squad's night off patrolling," said Buffy. "Maybe Wil and I could do Net research to help you out. So can Xander, probably, and I think Cole said he and Oz would be here while Alex patrols."

"How I've missed the research party thing," said Willow with a nostalgic sigh.

"They have seemed rather few and far between lately," said Giles vaguely as he continued to read.

"Guys," said Kennedy from the stairs, "Vi wants to show us something." Buffy and Willow hopped up from their seats and followed her. Giles finished the paragraph he was on, which described the mid-nineties occurrence of the same odd weather, then marked his place, tucked the book under his arm, and headed upstairs after them.

"Okay, I know we haven't had any luck finding the Hellmouth," said Vi once everyone was gathered, "but I think we might get closer if we look for patterns in the slaying. So, I made...," she pulled a large poster from behind the TV and flipped it around dramatically, "this!" It was a chart with the word "Slaycount" painted across the top, and had the names of every Slayer there down the side, with space for them to tally the number of demons they killed.

"How...will that help?" piped up Rona, confused. She wasn't the only one.

"That's not all," Vi assured them, still enthusiastic. Next, she pulled out a large map and a box of different colored pins. "With this, we can mark _where_ we killed the demons and color code what kinds they are, and...," she unveiled her last item, which was just an ordinary journal, "here, we catalog the details about how they fought, what they were up to, and...stuff?" She trailed off uncertainly, suddenly looking very conscious of the weight of everyone's eyes on her.

"Thank you, Vi," said Giles, breaking the tension. He'd been having a bit of trouble trying to mentally keep track of what they would report. Vi smiled gratefully at him and he inclined his head appreciatively, returning the smile.

"I bet I'll have more on that chart than you," Emily taunted one of her squad members playfully. The girl let out a derisive snort. Soon the whole room was full of such competitive chatter, with the result that within moments, everyone was far more enthusiastic about patrolling than they had ever been. Buffy smiled at Vi across the room, and the younger Slayer beamed back at her.

†

Buffy finished training with the rest of the off-duty Slayers around ten, when they headed for bed and she for the research party. She hadn't missed much, even though Giles, Xander, Willow, Oz, and Cole had been working for the past two hours.

"What if it really was just a weather thing?" Xander suggested. He was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the computer screen. His vision kept blurring, and his neck was horribly stiff. The bruise on the side of his face where Kennedy's volleyball had struck him wasn't helping either. Every time he regained his focus, it would throb distractingly.

"Let's give it another hour," said Cole, though he didn't sound very hopeful. Buffy sat next to Giles with one of the blank Composition notebooks from a shelf of school supplies and a pen, ready to take notes, as the one source book and four computers were already taken.

Half an hour later, Willow's head drooped sideways onto her shoulder. She was the one who never got the night off, for, being the only resident witch with healing powers, she always had to be on call during patrolling hours. Oz's concentration faltered as he caught sight of her sleeping at the computer across from his. Cole kept looking distractedly over at the map where the light indicating Alex's position inched slowly along the blue patrol route. All of the lights on the map remained white, indicating that nobody was in serious trouble.

†

By two in the morning, all six of them were out cold, even Giles, but that changed as soon as the doors burst open and all of the on-duty Slayers poured in, racing loudly past to get to the chart on the second floor. Cole's head jerked up from the keyboard he had been using as a pillow, the pattern of keys imprinted deeply onto his face. Xander woke with an enormous start, fell off his chair, let out a groan, and tried to go back to sleep. Willow's head came up off her shoulder and she groggily stumbled around the computer desks to wake Buffy, but tripped over a notebook that had fallen to the floor. Though half-asleep, Oz reacted automatically and was out of his seat just in time to catch her mid-fall. The contact was like a jolt of electricity through both of them, rendering each fully awake. They jerked apart, Willow letting her hair swing forward to hide the vivid redness flaring across her face.

"Thanks," she muttered to the floor.

"No problem," said Oz, staring at a point just over her shoulder. Willow made to go past him, and he quickly got out of her way. None of the others were alert enough yet to have noticed anything.

"Buffy." Willow shook her friend's shoulder gently.

"No, Dawn, it's not safe," she said. Willow smiled before shaking a little more vigorously, and Buffy finally opened her eyes. "Oh, hey Wil. What?" She blinked against the light, then let Willow lead her to the stairs.

Alex passed them coming back down, having managed to place her two tally marks next to her name on the chart. "Okay, needing sleep now," she informed Cole and Oz, who accompanied her back out of the building to the van after they had shaken Xander and Giles awake again. Giles left the book open on the table as they sleepily headed for the stairs. The gust of air from Cole shutting the door turned the page, to reveal a sketch of a winding sea serpent. The picture was captioned, "_The Leviathan. Legendary creature of the sea. Conflicting accounts argue as to whether it possesses the ability to manipulate climate conditions around the body of water it claims as its home. Generally elusive, the Leviathan only appears once a decade when it surfaces in the week preceding the full moon of the eighth month._"

†

By the next morning, Xander's frivolous disregard of the merits of sunscreen had come back to haunt him.

"Still think it should have been a nude beach?" asked Willow.

"No amount of blistering sunburns can make me think that would have been a bad idea," he said firmly. This earned him a reproving poke on one of the reddest parts of his sunburn from Buffy, who had just joined them for breakfast, carrying the morning paper.

"Anything interesting?" Willow asked.

"Yeah," said Buffy, flipping the paper over, to reveal the bold headline: "Cleveland State Seniors Reported Missing." Beneath this heading was a group picture of the students in question.

"Vampire attack?" asked Kennedy, coming over from the pantry holding a bowl of cereal.

"Could be anything," said Buffy. She didn't like the idea that the patrol squads would have missed a quadruple kill and she hoped that the boys in the picture were indeed only missing.

"Morning," came Alex's voice from the stairs. "We come bearing donuts." Cole and Oz appeared behind her, each eating a donut. Alex led the way to the table where the other three were sitting and placed her box down. "Sunscreen, you know, is a very good thing," she added, noticing Xander.

"Definitely keeping that—ow—in mind," he said, wincing.

"Didn't you used to live in California?" she asked.

"I'm a slow learner. Must you rub it in?"

"Hey, what's this?" said Cole, spotting the newspaper.

"Four guys who might not show up for their senior year," said Willow.

"That's—," Alex began, staring at the photograph.

"Matt and the guys," Oz finished slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Weren't they the ones about to go jet-skiing?" asked Kennedy.

"Yeah," said Alex. "How can they be missing?"

"Wait," said Buffy, suddenly remembering something. "Did they have a white boat?"

"With a blue dragon on the side," said Oz.

"I saw them," she said. "They were on the lake, then I came back to you guys..."

"Which is when—," said Willow, eyes wide.

"The weather," said Xander.

"Giles said this kind of weather thing has been happening once every ten years," said Buffy.

"So, you're thinking we might have matching missing persons reports for every time that happened," Oz guessed.

†

Five more minutes on the computers confirmed what several hours had failed to do the night before. As far back as the land around Lake Erie was populated, whether on American or Canadian soil, every ten years, around the same time as the odd weather reports, there would be a string of people who had simply vanished. The numbers varied from fewer than ten to well over fifty, but only one of the reports had ever connected the two incidents. A newspaper from the fifties had documented the worst case, in which a yacht bearing sixty-two passengers had been caught in a freak storm on the lake and had never been seen again.

"But that doesn't change anything," said Buffy in frustration. "It still might just be a weather-fluke!"

"I rather think not," said Giles. The group by the computers jumped, all having been too intent on the article to notice his arrival. He walked over, his expression one of complete irony, showing them the open reference book. "It seems we called it a night one page too soon." There was silence for about thirty seconds as they all read the caption by the picture and realization set in.

"So, should I quote _JAWS_, or _Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea_?" asked Xander, clapping his hands together.

Giles glared at him.

"A Leviathan?" said Buffy.

"How do we kill it?" asked Kennedy.

"It'll keep feeding until Sunday night," said Giles.

"Full moon," said Oz. Giles nodded. "So, is this thing like underwater version of the Mayor?" he asked. Alex and Cole exchanged confused looks. Oz's explanation of the adventures in Sunnydale hadn't covered that. Kennedy glared at him, not happy that he knew more about it than she did.

"That would suck, 'cause I don't really see the old exploding library trick working in the middle of a giant lake," said Xander.

"No, no," said Giles. "Fortunately it shouldn't be quite that large or strong."

"But it's still built for underwater, which we're kinda not," said Oz.

"_How do we kill it_?" Kennedy repeated, growing increasingly more annoyed.

"It may be a mythical sea creature, but it's still essentially an animal," said Giles.

"So, take out the vitals, and we get Leviathan sushi," said Xander in an overly bright tone to indicate his skepticism.

"Guys, plan," said Buffy. "Giles, can you call and rent us a boat and five sets of scuba gear?"

"Of course," he said.

"Good. We're going fishing."

†

Three hours later, Buffy, Kennedy, Rona, Chao-Ahn, and Jordan were all in wetsuits, staring out into the water of the lake from the deck of _The Aleida_, a tiny fishing boat Giles had rented. As a helpful bonus, Willow had come up with a spell to allow the five Slayers to breathe underwater, which they had tested out near the shore first. Thanks to this spell, they would be unencumbered by oxygen tanks and masks, allowing for freer movement when facing the Leviathan. Xander stood by the wheel, trying to get them all to address him as Captain Harris, pointing insistently at his eye patch.

"I do hope the owner of this boat isn't terribly fond of it," Giles mused as they cruised farther into the lake.

"Don't say that," said Willow reproachfully. Her stomach was already churning from the boat's rocking motion. She began to check the straps of her life-jacket in an obsessive-compulsive manner.

"We've got the bait ready?" asked Buffy.

"One side of beef ready to be heaved over by a Slayer on your signal: check," said Xander, pointing to the enormous package they had gotten from the butcher.

Buffy looked up at the sky, which was cloudless and so bright from the midday sun that the blue almost looked bleached. She then turned to look back at the shore, which was now barely visible in the distance. "Okay, I think this is good."

Giles cut the motor and the boat slowed to a bobbing stop. Buffy nodded to Jordan and Rona, who ripped the packaging off the beef, tied one end of a rope securely around it and the other end to a hook that normally would have been attached to a net, then hefted it over the side. It hit the water with a loud splash and sank. The rope whipped after it, finally pulling taut after about fifteen seconds. Buffy pulled her goggles down over her face, grabbed one of the wickedly sharp spears they had brought from the training room, and jumped over the side. The other four Slayers copied her, and they swam down into the lake, using the rope to guide them. Willow's spell worked perfectly, making them all feel as if they were simply breathing very heavy air. The water was pleasantly cool and visibility was clear for about twenty feet. They continued to follow the rope down until they could see the meat at the end, and they waited.

†

"They've been down there a while," said Xander nervously.

"Ten minutes. That's not terribly long. This is, after all, quite a large lake," Giles reminded him. "The Leviathan could be anywhere."

"Yeah," said Willow absently. She was sitting cross-legged on the deck, hands over her temples, feeling down to where they were and making sure the spell was still working.

"Uh. Incoming," said Xander, pointing. Willow and Giles turned to see the first traces of mist unfurling over the water to the northwest. In less than a minute, the mist had grown so thick it was opaque, and now surrounded the boat. "This is...not...good..." The boat lurched, but not because the rope had been jerked by something taking the bait. All three of them hastily grabbed hold of the rail running on either side of the deck just in time for the boat to rock dangerously again as if something enormous had knocked into it.

†

Back underwater, the Slayers, who had been watching the meat get attacked by all kinds of normal fish, suddenly noticed that the rope was moving, but from the wrong end. "Go up!" Buffy tried to shout, but the words just came out as muffled sound in the water. Her fellows got the message though, and all five of them began to swim as hard as they could back to the surface.

†

Willow's, Xander's, and Giles's ears were suddenly filled with a monstrous roar, and though they could barely see each other through the mist, they felt the boat drop. Water crashed over the sides as the boat was momentarily dragged under. Willow tried to cast the water-breathing spell on the three of them as well, but was distracted when, just as the boat resurfaced, a scaly wall whipped past, less than a foot in front of her face, filling her with terror. Xander lunged for her, grabbing the back of her life jacket and pulling her into the middle of the boat a split-second before the Leviathan's tail smashed through the spot where she had been.

†

Rona was the first to swim within sight of the boat and the thing attacking it. Buffy was hot on her heels, realizing in horror that Giles's guess on its size had been wrong. Still, she swam on full-speed, thinking of Willow, Xander, and Giles. She reached the bottom of the boat and raked her spear along the coils of scaly sea serpent shooting past. This had been a mistake. The creature's head became visible, as it twisted around to look directly at her. The head alone was the size of an SUV, the many horns and whiskers protruding from it making it seem even larger. Jaws gaping wide enough to swallow a draft horse whole, it rushed her, and, before she could react, had snapped the rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth closed around her.

"Buffy!" her fellow Slayers tried to shout, but their cries too were lost in the water. Kennedy kicked harder than she ever had, giving her the burst of speed she needed to catch hold of one of the fins extending off the Leviathan's side with her free hand. With the other, she plunged her spear with all her strength into the wall of murky blue-green scales. If Kennedy hadn't been a Slayer, the scales would have completely deflected the blow. As it was, the spear penetrated right up to her fist. She held on to the spear handle for dear life as the Leviathan flailed madly in response to the blow. Chao-Ahn copied her on the Leviathan's other side, while Rona and Jordan attacked the head. The scales were harder there, but the eyes weren't, and they forced their spears deeply into them. Four clouds of blood billowed out where each Slayer had wounded it, and the now blind monster fought harder than ever in its agony.

Just above them, the boat had steadied a little. "The mist!" shouted Giles over the volume of the crashing water. "It's clearing!" They could see a little of what was going on beneath the surface now; a wildly thrashing Leviathan with four spears protruding from it, and four Slayers trying not to be thrown off.

"Where's Buffy?" Xander shouted.

†

Still inside the beast's mouth, Buffy finally managed to get some balance, standing on what she thought might be the tongue—though in the total darkness it was hard to tell. Putting every ounce of strength behind her spear, she rammed it up through the roof of the mouth. It went in more half the spear's length. As though she had pulled a lever, the jaws opened at once to release the Leviathan's dying shriek. Buffy seized the opportunity to swim back out. Just in time, too, for it snapped shut again with the force of a car crash a millisecond after her left foot was clear. She signaled to Rona and Jordan, and they all headed for the surface. Kennedy and Chao-Ahn followed a few seconds later, once the dead sea serpent had stilled. The adrenaline rush which had carried them all through the battle faded, leaving them to swim back to the damaged boat in exhaustion.

Xander and Giles helped haul each of them up, while Willow clung to the railing, eyes shut tight.

"No more beach parties, okay?" said Buffy once she was on the deck. Giles and Xander agreed, and they all laughed rather hysterically.

"What is that stuff all over you?" Xander asked in disgust. Buffy was completely covered in thick mucousy slime, which was dripping off her in ropes.

"If I think about it, I'll throw up," she said.

Once Kennedy was on board, she crawled over to Willow and hugged her tightly. "No sea monster eats my girl," she told her. Willow smiled weakly.

†

"How come you're calling so early?" asked Dawn. "Not that it's not cool, but I thought patrolling was a during-the-night thing."

"Oh, I'm still going patrolling later, but there was a bonus middle-of-the-day slay," Buffy replied.

"Which was?"

"Remember the Mayor?"

"Big snake?"

"Think bigger and underwater," said Buffy.

"Wait, I thought the Loch Ness Monster was in Ireland," said Dawn, confused.

"Scotland, actually—only it wasn't the Loch Ness Monster," said Buffy. "It was a Leviathan. Nessie's Great Lakes transfer student cousin."

"Ooh, what happened?" asked Dawn eagerly.

"Well, apparently it didn't like beef, because it went for our boat instead of the half-a-cow we brought. It almost sunk it with Willow, Xander, and Giles on board before me and four of the girls could get to it. Then it swallowed me."

"Ew," said Dawn.

"Yeah, it's taken me the last two hours to scrub all of the Leviathan drool off. It got under my wet suit and everything!"

"How'd you get out?" asked Dawn.

"I stabbed it. Everyone else was attacking it from the outside, and all of that finished it off. Then it opened its mouth and let out a shriek that nearly made me go deaf, and I swam out, and we all got back on the boat and we're fine!"

"Cool!"

"Oh, and I forgot," Buffy continued, "Willow did this spell so we could breathe underwater, which felt kinda funny, but I don't think we could have done it if we'd had to use scuba stuff instead."

"Wow," said Dawn, half-wishing she could have been there.

"And the guy we rented the boat from was so angry when he saw the huge chunk the Leviathan had taken out of the side of it. We couldn't tell him what happened, so it ended up that Xander volunteered to work it off. He's been getting kinda restless over the summer, not having a real job. He tried to get into construction here, but apparently to do that, you need a resume that isn't at the bottom of a crater in California. I think he wants to get an authentic pirate outfit to go with his eye-patch, now that he's working on a boat." For a while, they laughed as they pictured it, which was easy, considering his Halloween costume from two years before.

"Well, we just went school shopping today," said Dawn after they had recovered.

"Awesome!" said Buffy, but then became stern, "You didn't buy more clothes, did you? Not after you nearly cleaned out every shop we went to?"

"No, I mean like binders and calculators and pencils and stuff," said Dawn. "Isabelle's parents are kinda stingy about the clothes-buying. They want her to be a big brain like her sister."

"When does school start?"

"In about a month. I had to go figure out all of my registration stuff early, 'cause of the whole 'my old school doesn't exist anymore' thing. I forged your signature on some stuff, just so you know."

"_Dawn__!_" said Buffy, but before she could get any further, Dawn burst into more laughter.

"Kidding!" she said. "Mrs. Quinn signed off for all my stuff. She copied everything so I could mail it to you." At that point, Willow emerged from the bathroom, having finished showering and getting dressed.

"Dawn?" she mouthed. Buffy nodded.

"Wanna talk to Willow?" Buffy asked her sister.

"Yeah!" she passed the phone over.

"Hey, Dawn!" said Willow, beaming.

* * *

Oz's purple sunglasses. Canonical object. Don't believe me? Watch "In the Dark" of Angel season one. Those are the coolest sunglasses _ever_. The constant awkward between Oz and Willow. How would you act if you were them? I am applying logic. Xander blabbing about Willow/Oz to Kennedy. Well, he did the same about Buffy/Angel to Riley, so he seemed the right one to screw things up. Buffy and Willow hugging Giles. He is important to them. He gets love, especially after the madness that being surrounded by giggling teenagers for months (most of the stuff to that effect is a recent addition to the chapter, as I noticed that it came in a touch below my self-induced minimum word count per episode, and saw it as a good opportunity to give Giles some more attention). The Leviathan. How could I not, when this is set just south of Lake Erie? I mean, seriously. Fun stuff.


	6. 8x06: The Torso Murderer

Episode 6: The Torso Murderer

†

Thursday, September 18, 2003

"I hate patrolling here," said Emily, clutching her crossbow a little tighter.

"Everyone hates patrolling here," said Vi, "but tonight's our turn, and then we won't have to come back for another week and a half."

"You'd think after four months, the demons would stop coming here," said Rachael.

"But the Flats are full of fun abandoned buildings," Shannon reminded her. "I bet they still have plenty of hiding places we haven't found yet."

"And we definitely won't find them if you guys don't shut up," Vi pointed out. Patrolling always put her on edge and left her with little patience.

The deep shadows under the Carnegie Avenue bridge were empty and quiet, and the four Slayers passed beneath and continued up the East Bank without incident. They cautiously crept into the first of the abandoned warehouses there next to the river and spent ten minutes thoroughly checking the building, but found nothing. On to the next, and the next. Vi, as usual, was all business, leading the way into each building, never letting her guard down. This was why she was the squad leader. Bored, Rachael began to trace the lines on her hand with the point of her stake, and Shannon had to stop herself from whistling. Emily shot surreptitious glances at her watch at regular intervals. Eleven thirty. Eleven forty-five. Midnight.

After yet another hour dragged past, even Vi had lost some enthusiasm. But it all came surging back when, as they emerged from the latest vacant warehouse, they saw flickering lights in the windows of the next. Grips tightened on weapons and adrenaline began to flow. They made no sound as they neared the building.

Vi stood on the tips of her toes to peer through a dingy window next to the door. Seven grubby-looking figures surrounded the burning remnants of what had probably been a large bonfire a few hours before. If it hadn't been for the three still forms lying on the dusty cement, their dead features illuminated by the dancing firelight, Vi might have thought the other seven to be human.

"What've we got?" Emily whispered when Vi turned back to face them.

"Vampires. Seven. Looks like they made dinner out of some people squatting here," said Vi grimly.

"Maybe if we'd gone a bit faster through all the other places, we could have saved them," Rachael muttered in a slightly accusatory tone.

"Well, we can't do anything to change that now, so forget your what ifs," said Vi. "All we can do is make sure those were the last lives these vampires will ever take."

"Did you see other ways in?" asked Shannon.

"Yeah," said Vi. "There's another door on the opposite side of the building. Emily and I will go in on this side, you two go around back." Without hesitation, Shannon and Rachael jogged out of sight around the corner of the warehouse. Vi turned to Emily. "Ready?" She nodded. They moved a few steps to the right and simultaneously kicked the heavy, rusty door. It was ripped clean off its hinges, then skidded five feet across the floor in a shower of sparks before falling flat with an ear-splitting crash. All seven vampires stared from it to the two deceptively petite girls framed in the doorway. Emily twitched her right forefinger, sending a crossbow bolt straight into the heart of the nearest one.

"And then there were six," she said, smirking, as her target turned to dust. His fellows' yellow eyes widened as they realized what they were up against. Vi and Emily dashed forward, not giving them time to prepare. Vi deflected an ill-aimed punch, grabbing the attacker's wrist in a bone-crushing grip and flipping him over on his back. His head met concrete with a sickening crack, and before he could blink the stars out of his eyes, Vi had rammed her stake between his ribs. Two of his fellows, however, grabbed her arms before she could right herself.

Emily was surrounded by the other three, one of whom was bleeding profusely from a nose recently broken by her foot. Just then, the back door banged open to reveal Shannon and Rachael.

"Hey, why'd you start without us?" said Rachael's irritably.

"What can I say?" said Vi as she banged the heads of the two vampires holding her together. "We couldn't wait." The vampires staggered apart, clutching their heads.

"Less chatting, more helping!" cried Emily. Shannon dropped her axe and instead pulled a flaming board from the fire.

"You got it," she said, and she hurled it at one of the vampires trying to get past Emily's defenses. It hit him squarely on the back, catching his jacket on fire. Seconds later, he burst into flames and crumbled into a harmless pile of ash. Emily rolled quickly as the other two dived at her, and they missed her by inches. She stood again, now wielding the burning board. Before the second vampire could react, she had driven the flaming end through his stomach. With a final scream, he joined the others as dust. Continuing the same fluid movement, Emily drew another crossbow bolt from the pouch on her belt and plunged it through the third's heart. When she turned around, Rachael and Shannon had just finished off the last two.

"You know," said Shannon thoughtfully, "maybe the reason the demons still come here is because we never leave anything alive to send around the warning. All they see are invitingly abandoned buildings that somehow haven't been claimed by other demons yet."

"Nice," said Emily.

"Come on," said Vi. "We're not finished yet." Their eyes roved across the three corpses. They could see that each had been bitten more than once.

"Think they were turned?" Rachael asked in a hushed voice. Even months of this hadn't made the sight of dead bodies easier for her to handle. She willed her stomach to stop trying to jump up her throat.

"One way to make sure they don't," said Vi. Rachael shut her eyes tight as Vi, Emily, and Shannon ensured that the bodies would remain at rest. When she opened them, all three had stakes protruding from the left sides of their chests.

"We should bury them," she said quietly. The others nodded.

"There was a place a little way back towards the bridge," suggested Shannon. Silently, they hauled each of the bodies out of the warehouse. By the time they had finished their work, it was well past two, and they gratefully made their way back to headquarters.

Back in the warehouse, in the shadows beyond the light of the dying fire, a ripple appeared in the air, like an out-of-place heat haze. One hand with long, blade-like fingers reached out from the warped space, followed by another. Together, they pushed outward, stretching the gap wider.

†

"So, what did the non-slaying crew do tonight?" asked Buffy. Her squad had encountered average amounts of unpleasantness in the sewers, earning all four of them multiple tally marks for the Slaycount chart.

"We watched this documentary about the Torso Murderer," said Xander, doing a spooky voice for the last three words. Buffy was unimpressed, especially as she was somewhat distracted by a fresh stain from demon blood she had just noticed on her shirt.

"What's that about?" she asked distractedly.

"Only the most legendary unsolved serial murder of Ohio," said Cole as he stretched and yawned, waiting for Alex to get back so he and Oz could take her home before going back to their apartment.

"It was like the first official serial case in the U.S.," said Willow, trying to hide her fascination, but she didn't fool them.

"When did it happen?"

"Back in the Great Depression," said Oz, "'cause that evidently wasn't giving people enough problems."

"Thirteen victims," said Cole. "One of them they just found recently. They call her the Lady of the Lake."

"What happened to them?"

"The murderer cut their heads off," said Xander, "and, for the male victims, other...parts." All three guys cringed convulsively.

"And they never solved it?" asked Buffy.

"They had a couple of suspects," said Xander, "but never a really solid conviction."

"The investigator, Eliot Ness, nearly drove himself crazy trying to find the killer," said Willow. "He ended up losing everything. His job, a couple of marriages; he even died a few years later."

"Ouch," said Buffy sympathetically, then looked around for her Watcher. "Where's Giles?" she asked on failing to spot him.

"The Watcher diaries came in from his England house today. Apparently he can't get those in that reference book. He's been reading them ever since," said Xander.

"Okay, well, I won't interrupt that," said Buffy, who remembered Giles' less than exciting description of them from years ago. "Anyway, time to find out how Dawn's first day at PALY went."

"Tell her we said hi," said Xander. She headed for the stairs and began to climb just as Kennedy arrived with her squad.

"Hey, baby," Kennedy called to Willow, who smiled back at her. Alex waved to Cole, who grinned as the tension drained out of him. She and the other squad members, Laurel and Erin, headed for the chart.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Willow asked.

"Great; hit two vamp nests in a row," said Kennedy, kissing Willow on the cheek. "I think the new girl is allergic to the dust," she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder at Erin, who had arrived the day before. "Still, she's pretty good." She then left them to join her companions at the chart.

"Is it just me, or does it seem like there are a lot of vamp nests in this town?" asked Xander.

"Well, it is on a Hellmouth," Willow reminded him. "Plus, it's more of a big honkin' city than just a town."

"Still, we've got, what, almost fifty Slayers here? You'd think they'd at least be down to a trickle by now. Where are they all coming from?"

"Maybe they've got a bigger nasty pulling the strings," Oz suggested. He staggered forward suddenly; Kennedy had knocked into him as she walked back. Xander fidgeted uncomfortably. Ever since his ultimate foot-in-mouth moment the previous month, Kennedy had grown less and less subtle in her intense dislike of Oz, and ever-more possessive of Willow whenever he was around, which Willow was beginning to find annoying. Her fingers were stiff, therefore, when Kennedy forced her own between them.

†

"How's the new school?"

"Big and different," said Dawn.

"You like?"

"Certain things. Like, there's this cute boy, Matthew, in my English class—only, Isabelle called dibs on him. Plus she already knows him and I think he likes her."

Buffy laughed. "Well, he's not the only guy around, is he? What about classes? How were they?"

"Kinda scary. Izzy talked me into signing up for lots of really hard ones. I'm even in a couple of AP classes."

"Ooh, college credit. That'll give Wil a happy. Think you can handle it?"

"It's gonna be a lot of work, but there's Izzy who's been doing this stuff for years, so I'll have help if I need it."

"Sounds good."

"How's Xander doing with that boat job?"

"He worked off the damage a couple of weeks ago, and his boss doesn't hate him anymore."

"Did he get the pirate outfit?"

"Not yet. I think he's actually taking this one seriously. He says he still misses construction, but I think he likes this chance to try something new."

†

When Willow came up ten minutes later, Buffy was still on the phone with Dawn. She smiled at Buffy, then headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed. She pulled on her pajamas, shivered, and reached up to get an extra blanket from the closet. Something fell off the shelf with it, but Willow, mid-way through a yawn, didn't notice. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she emerged from the bathroom, to find Buffy just hanging up the phone.

"Good night," she said.

"You too," said Buffy.

†

Buffy and Willow came down the stairs the next morning to find half the inhabitants of the building already up, eating breakfast, and watching a news report.

"...Found in one of the abandoned warehouses of the Flats on the East Bank. The head has yet to be discovered. It seems like Cleveland might just have another Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run on its hands." The report switched to an interview with the police chief.

"The Torso Murderer," said Willow.

"Huh?" asked Buffy.

"Remember, the documentary we were telling you about? 'Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run' is another nickname for the Torso Murderer," said Willow.

"Oh," said Buffy. She spotted Vi, who looked pale as she stared blankly at the TV. Buffy walked up next to her, frowning. "Vi," she said, looking back at the screen. "East Bank, wasn't that your route last night?"

"It was."

"Did you see anything?"

"Just vampires. We dusted them and came back. There wasn't anything else on the whole route. Nothing. Nothing at all. Warehouse after warehouse full of nothing," said Vi. Her eyes were frozen wide. Buffy put her hands on Vi's shoulders and moved between her and the TV.

"Look at me! This isn't your fault. How many people will live because you killed those vampires? It's _not _your fault," said Buffy harshly. "My squad patrols East Bank tonight. We'll figure out what's going on."

"Okay," said Vi, but a tear fell before she could stop it. No matter what Buffy said, she still felt responsible.

"This murder," came Giles' voice from the kitchen a few minutes farther into the report. "It seems to recall that serial case from last night's program, yes?" Willow, Xander, and Buffy all left the rest of the Slayers to join him.

"That's what it looks like," said Xander.

"It's mentioned in here," he said, holding up one of the Watcher diaries.

"Does that mean it wasn't really a serial murder?" asked Xander.

"Even if a demon did it, it's still a serial murder," said Willow. Xander shrugged.

"The murders took place throughout the late thirties," said Giles, "A Watcher named Richard Michael Aubrey wrote of a demon he had been tracking with his Slayer, Morgan Stromberg, in that same time. The demon was called Kezran, and it had already taken thirteen victims. The authorities had dubbed it the Torso Murderer."

"So it _was_ a demon," said Xander.

"Did they kill it?" asked Buffy.

"I don't know," said Giles, looking back down at the book. "Aubrey's record ends there. Wait, no. The next Watcher mentions it too." His expression suddenly darkened. "Oh, dear."

"What is it?" asked Willow.

"This Watcher, a Mr. Thompson, wrote that Miss Stromberg's body was found in the Cleveland Flats, but Aubrey had vanished."

"The demon killed Morgan?" Buffy guessed.

"Aubrey did."

"_What?_" said all three in unison, appalled.

"But, but he was her Watcher!" protested Willow, uncomprehending.

"The bullet that killed her matched the gun registered to Aubrey, but the police never found him. Nor did the Watchers' Council," said Giles, in tones of disgust.

"But what about the demon they were hunting?" asked Buffy.

"Mr. Thompson doesn't mention it. The next Slayer to be called was in Australia, and they focused their attention on her."

"How could a Watcher kill a Slayer?" Willow demanded. "Especially _his _Slayer?"

"Guy must've been seriously whacked," said Xander. "Hey, what if that demon controlled him somehow, made him do it?"

"I don't think so," said Giles. "Nothing recorded about Kezran mentions mind control powers of any kind." He looked at Buffy. Over the years, she had become closer to him than anyone else. Like a daughter. And it wasn't just him. Many of the other accounts by Watchers who had preceded him wrote of that bond. Not outright, perhaps, but choice of words made it clear enough. And when they wrote of the deaths of their Slayers, he could tell that every word had cost them dearly to write. And yet this man, this Richard Aubrey, had betrayed that bond so completely. Giles couldn't even imagine being in that position. Like all Watchers, he had known how probable it was that his charge would die a violent and early death, but he would still die in an instant if it meant Buffy would live. He remembered that horrible summer after she died. But to _cause _it? That man was an abomination!

"Okay, well, as messed up as this guy was, he was probably right about Kezran being responsible for the murders," said Buffy, shaking herself out of horrible mental images of Morgan dying at the hands of her Watcher. "And if that's the case, it looks like the demon is active again."

"Only now he's got more than just the one betrayed Slayer to deal with," said Xander in satisfaction.

†

The remainder of the day was spent in a very unsettled fashion. Buffy trusted Giles more than almost anyone. The previous year, when their disagreements over Spike had left their relationship very strained, had been very painful for her, and she was extremely glad that things had gone back to normal between them since the battle. She valued the bond between them more than the one she had with her own father, whatever was left of it, and was horrified beyond words that another Slayer had met her downfall to someone who was supposed to have been her Giles. She recounted the story of Morgan Stromberg and her Watcher to her fellow Slayers, and wasn't the only one who seethed about it all day long.

This widespread irritability certainly didn't help the many inhabitants of headquarters to get along any better than usual. On the contrary, tensions were nearly at their highest, and Buffy was forced to mediate the latest of many confrontations between several of the youngest girls as they argued over who was supposed to clean the weapons and who was in charge of taking out the garbage. She wouldn't have bothered this time, as she was hardly in the mood, but when it got so out of hand that it was almost coming to blows, she had little choice but to step in. After threatening them all with loss of TV privileges and double garbage duty—reminding herself unavoidably of her mother while doing so—, Buffy finally managed to force an agreement out of them. Xander had been caught in a similar situation, though his solution after coming across two Slayers squabbling over the last pizza roll in the freezer was to simply eat it himself. This might have earned him a great deal of pain from the indignant pair had Willow not (disapprovingly) intervened on his behalf. After what felt like a very long time later, night finally fell and the squads departed for patrol.

†

Buffy led the way past the first few warehouses of the East Bank, filled with a burning need to vent her feelings on this Kezran demon.

"There's the police tape," said Kat, pointing. They approached it. The scene was deserted now, but a chalk outline was there on the ground, a line drawn straight across the shoulders with nothing above them. A dark stain spattered the concrete beneath that line, and Buffy felt Clare shudder next to her.

"I guess we go from here," she said. They walked around the edge of the black and yellow tape barrier to check the warehouse ahead. It was empty. So was the next. Buffy had almost continued straight on to the third, but Kat stopped her.

"Wait," she said, "there's something down there." She pointed to the gap between two adjoining warehouses.

"Mon Dieu," gasped Noëlle, holding a hand to her mouth in horror, "le deuxième." Buffy walked into the gap to find a headless corpse. The smell of iron was strong; blood was everywhere. Buffy covered her mouth and nose against the smell and backed out to where the rest of her squad stood.

"We have to kill this thing," she said. They nodded and proceeded to the next warehouse. The door had been ripped from its hinges and lay flat on the dusty floor a few feet inside.

"This is where Vi's squad killed the vamps last night," said Buffy. They walked in cautiously, peering into the dark shadows.

"Did you hear that?" asked Buffy suddenly, raising the Scythe slightly.

"Hear what?" replied Clare.

"There was a voice," said Buffy vaguely. She stretched out her hand to the wall, straining to hear. "There it is again!" It was a female voice. She couldn't make out the words.

"I can't hear anything," said Kat. Noëlle frowned at Buffy.

"No, she's here, she needs help!" Buffy insisted, then gasped. "Morgan?" she asked. All at once, she felt like she'd been struck by a powerful force. She fell to her knees.

"Buffy!" cried the other three, running over to her.

"I'm fine," said Buffy, "It's just—" She put the hand not holding the Scythe to her forehead.

"Wasn't Morgan the Slayer Buffy said was murdered by her Watcher?" asked Clare. The other two nodded, all three of them shuddering.

Buffy could barely hear the conversation going on next to her. She closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, it was to a completely different scene. It was the same warehouse, but the place looked clean and new, and she was now bathed in the fading reddish light of sunset. The door opened behind her and she turned to see a girl with curly brown hair, no more than eighteen, followed by a red-haired man who seemed to be in his early to mid twenties. Both were dressed in the style of the thirties. The girl carried a sword, and the man; a rifle in one hand, a book in the other. A bag was slung over his back. Buffy had never seen them before, but already knew who they were. She glowered fiercely at the man, but knew she could do little else.

"Quick, get everything set up," said Morgan.

"I'm not sure it'll work," Richard replied, but crouched down and emptied his sack all the same.

"It has to," she said. "Killing Kezran won't be enough. You said he traps the souls of all of his victims, and the only way to free them is to banish him from this dimension."

"It's one thing to plan on opening a portal to a hell dimension, but quite another to actually open one. I don't—I don't want to put you in danger." He blushed and continued arranging the candles and other contents of the bag on the floor without looking at her.

"I'm always in danger," she said, her expression softening as she looked at him. "I'd have fallen to it long since if I didn't have you." He stood and faced her, his expression matching hers. He stretched out a hand and brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And love you, Richard," she said. They kissed passionately, wrapping their arms around each other. It was nearly a minute before they broke apart.

"Come on, let's kill this thing," said Richard, trying to sound businesslike. Morgan nodded. They finished setting up the items together. The end result was an ominous-looking pentagram. Morgan lit black candles at each of the points, while Richard read a Latin passage from his book. The air above the shape began to shimmer and ripple as if in a heat haze. A hole appeared, widening until it was four feet in diameter.

"How long will it last?" asked Morgan, raising her voice a little over the eerie howling noise coming from the portal.

"Until something falls in," said Richard.

"What if something comes out instead?" said Morgan, regarding the portal with deep apprehension.

"It shouldn't," said Richard. He tried to sound reassuring, but clearly wasn't sure enough about it to be convincing. Instead, he changed the subject. "You're certain this is the place he came to in your dream?"

"Yes. It was just after sunset. He was dragging number fourteen along."

"Alive?"

"Unconscious."

They waited. Richard checked his rifle. Both barrels were loaded and he had more shots ready in his belt, but hopefully he wouldn't need them. The light through the windows was fading, shadows growing longer, but the portal remained open. Morgan stood facing the door, her sword held loosely in front of her. Richard gazed tenderly at her, and there was a peaceful sort of silence, broken only by the continued sound of the portal. At a sudden crunch of gravel, they both tensed. Moments later, the demon arrived. He was eight feet tall and had chalk-white skin, shining black eyes, and fingers like daggers, with which he was dragging an unconscious woman.

"Right on time, Kezran," said Richard. The demon dropped his cargo, and stood upright, leering at them evilly.

"Ah, brave little warriors come to stop me, eh?" he said in a silky voice that made their skin crawl.

"Not interested in conversation," said Morgan coldly before she ran at him with the sword. He seized it in both hands. Sparks flew from its edge as they made contact with those fingers. Morgan tried to jerk it out of his grip, but he snapped it in two and hurled her back. She slammed into the wall with a thud and slid down to the ground with a groan.

"No!" shouted Richard. He turned, furious, to face the demon, aiming his rifle straight between those soulless black eyes. Before he could pull the trigger, blade-edged fingers had closed around the barrel and forced it up. _BANG! _The first shot rang out, missing Kezran by inches. He snarled and wrenched the firearm from Richard's grip. Before he could do anything else, Morgan, who had used the intermittent time to recover, had driven her broken sword all the way to the hilt through his back.

The demon let out a blood-curdling scream as thick, black liquid gushed from the wound. He whirled round to face his attacker, whose triumphant smile broadened, lighting up her features. _BANG!_

Morgan's smile faded from her face, and her eyes widened as she stared down at the place where the bullet had struck. "_MORGAN!_" She heard her Watcher's scream as if from far away.

Richard shoved roughly past the still-bleeding Kezran to his charge, who he had guided and trained and trained for three years. The charge he had fallen in love with. She fell limply forward into his arms, her large blue eyes staring at nothing. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no," he said, refusing to believe it. "You're alright, you're alright." But he knew she wasn't. His vision blurred as hot tears poured from his eyes, falling onto her beautiful, still face. With an agonized cry that nearly tore his throat, he rounded on Kezran.

"You took her away from me!" he shrieked, lunging at the demon. "I'll destroy you!" The bladed fingers raked across his skin, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except the raw, gaping hole inside him that Morgan had left behind. He saw the portal right behind Kezran and shoved him towards it with all his might. The demon looked over its shoulder at the swirling hole and tried to fight Richard off, but the Watcher was fueled by a grief-stricken rage that could not be overcome. As Kezran was forced, head-first, into the portal, he closed a hand around Richard's left arm, fingers cutting deeply through the flesh, and they both disappeared through the hole.

†

Buffy fell forward onto the cement. She became aware again of her fellow Slayers, who were calling her name in concern. Kat was wondering aloud if they needed to get Willow.

"No, no," said Buffy, standing up shakily, "I'm fine. How long was I out?"

"Just a moment," said Noëlle.

"Felt like an hour."

"Why, what happened?" asked Clare.

"This is where Morgan died," said Buffy, still shaken by it. "I saw it. Richard didn't kill her. They were in love. The demon got hold of his gun and shot her just after she stabbed him. Then Richard attacked the demon and forced him into a portal leading to a hell dimension, but he got pulled in too."

"They were in love?" Kat repeated, shocked.

"She died and he got sucked into Hell," said Clare. "Happily ever after...not so much."

"And zis demon, he really was ze one who murdered all zose people?" asked Noëlle.

"Yeah. He got free somehow," said Buffy. She felt horrible for the way she had spent her day venomously cursing Richard for Morgan's death. More than ever, now, she wanted to destroy that demon. "Morgan only wounded him before he killed her. He must have gotten strong enough since then to make his way back to this dimension. We have to stop him before he adds another headless corpse to the list."

"Well, that's too bad," came a voice from the doorway. All four of them whipped around. "Because I was going to start with you."

Noëlle swore loudly at him in French.

"Whatever that meant, seconded," said Kat.

Buffy walked forward slowly.

"Why," hissed the demon. "If it isn't the same Slayer brat I ended so many years ago."

"You sent the man I love to hell," Buffy spat.

"And he, me; where's the injustice?" rejoined the demon, tapping his chin with a long, blade-like finger.

"That you walk free."

"What?" asked Clare.

"Buffy...?" said Noëlle, stretching an arm towards her, but Kat pulled her back.

"No," she said in awe. "It's Morgan." Clare, Kat, and Noëlle all stood and watched as Morgan lifted Buffy's Scythe-wielding arm, muscles coiled in anticipation. Without warning, Kezran dove for her, but Morgan dodged, slashing him across the back with the singing blade of the Scythe as he went past. He yelled in pain and rage, then spun around and slashed his wickedly sharp fingers down at her. Morgan caught him by the wrist and threw him with an ear-splitting crash against the nearest wall, then calmly walked to him and raised the Scythe for the killing blow.

"You're going to hell, and this time you're not coming back," she said. With a snarl, he attempted to renew his attack, but Morgan brought the beautiful weapon swishing down, slicing his head cleanly from his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a resounding _thunk._ The body twitched for a few seconds, then collapsed and was still.

Without a word, Morgan seized it by an arm and dragged it over to a shadowy corner of the warehouse. The air there rippled and a portal appeared as she approached. She heaved the corpse through it, then retrieved the head and threw it in as well. Her hair stood on end as wind gushed from within the portal. She felt the thirteen lost souls, as well as the two from the more recent victims, soar past her, finally free. She waited as the portal began to shrink. Her chest constricted painfully, but she desperately clung to hope. Still, it continued to shrink. She sank to her knees, tears of despair streaking her face. Finally, when it was no more than a foot across, she felt the soul she'd been waiting for.

"Richard," she said, her voice aching with joy and relief. Then her eyes closed, and Buffy collapsed to the floor as Morgan departed, at peace at last. Yet again, Buffy's squad members rushed to her side. She seemed to be unconscious.

"Whoa," said Kat, looking at the other two with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Clare agreed.

"We must take her back," said Noëlle. She took the Scythe from Buffy's slackened grip while the other two raised her carefully to an upright position and began to carry her out of the building.

†

"That's kinda beautiful," said Willow dreamily. Kat had just filled them in on what had happened. It was only midnight, though, so their squad had enlisted one of the back-up Slayers' help to finish the patrol shift.

"How?" asked Xander incredulously. "I mean, there was lots of death and innocent guys getting stuck in hell."

"At least he wasn't the one who killed her," said Giles.

"But everyone still died," Xander persisted.

"Still," said Willow, "he gave up everything for her, and she avenged them both, and now they're together."

"Plus," said Oz, "Torso Murderer now dead."

"You'd think we could get a reward for solving Ohio's oldest serial murder," said Xander, "but, of course, the bad guy had to be a demon, so we don't get to tell anyone."

"Justice is funny that way," said Willow, shooting Xander a stern look.

"I can't believe the Watchers' Council though Richard did it," said Cole.

"You never knew them like we did," said Xander darkly.

"Yes. They did have the rather debilitating flaw of playing strictly by the rules and sticking to straight-up facts," said Giles. "They don't understand how deep the connection can become between Watcher and Slayer. Not that they wanted to understand it."

"And I'm betting they wouldn't have been happy about Richard and Morgan falling in love," said Willow.

"No," Giles agreed, "I got fired just for 'having a father's love for the child,' so that wouldn't have crossed a line so much as taken said line and bashed the Council over the head with it."

"Which is just stupid," said Willow indignantly. "I mean, they can't just dictate to someone who probably won't last more than a few years anyway who she's allowed to fall in love with!" She caught Oz's eye, but they both hastily looked away, Willow hoping very strongly that she hadn't blushed this time.

"Yes, but that certainly didn't stop them from trying," said Giles.

"How long do you think Buffy'll stay under?" asked Xander.

"I've no idea," said Giles. "She was possessed by the spirit of a dead Slayer. As far as I know, this is the first time something like this has happened."

"Why did Morgan pick Buffy to possess out of the four who were there?" asked Cole.

"Maybe because Buffy's been a Slayer as long as half the girls here put together," Oz guessed.

"And, I expect, because she was carrying the Scythe," said Giles. "It's an incredibly powerful weapon linked directly to the Slayer line."

Willow nodded in agreement, thinking of the spell she had cast in May.

†

At two, once all the white lights on the map began to return to headquarters, Willow went up to her and Buffy's room, keen on being out of sight when Kennedy returned. She hated the way Kennedy acted around Oz, when she used to be so friendly to him, and wanted to keep the occasions when all three of them were in the same room to a bare minimum. She hadn't been able to bring herself to tell Kennedy to lay off, though; she didn't want to start a fight. Still, Kennedy was being ridiculous. It wasn't like Oz was actively trying to take Willow from her. There were just those glances, and the way he always seemed to gravitate slightly in her direction without meaning to. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about this, but it had been one of the foremost of her thoughts for over a month.

When she reached the room, she found Buffy still asleep on her bed, looking peaceful. Willow smiled as she went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, thinking that this might be one of the few times her friend's sleep might be free of nightmares, which was something she definitely deserved.

When she went to close the closet door, her pajamas now on and teeth brushed, she noticed a battered old backpack on the floor just inside it. She frowned at it, then remembered. It was the one she had taken to the high school, packed with everything she'd needed for the spell to call all the Slayers. She could hardly believe it had made it all the way to Cleveland, only to be forgotten in a closet. She picked it up and brought it out to the room, where she sat down on the edge of her bed to open it. Maybe she could reuse the supplies from the spell for something else. However, the main pouches were empty. Her frown deepening, she checked the smaller pocket on the front, which contained a little bundle. She unfolded it and something small and plastic fell onto her lap.

Her eyes widened. It was a PEZ dispenser with a little green-skinned, red-haired witch head on top. She picked it up and turned it over and over in her hands, completely bewildered. Then she set it aside and looked more closely at what it had been wrapped in. It was a smooth red cloth with intricate silver patterns dancing all across it. These two items were all that remained of her possessions in Sunnydale. She folded the Tibetan cloth carefully back around the PEZ-witch and tucked them both under her pillow. She then turned off her lamp and slid under the covers, determined to fall asleep before she could attempt to process this. Still, as memories and confused emotions bombarded her ruthlessly, it was well past three before her breathing slowed to match her roommate's.

* * *

The Torso Murderer. That is a real unsolved case. Eliot Ness (who is actually famous for his involvement in bringing down Al Capone), the Lady of the Lake, even the documentary they watched (which really aired that night)-all real. If I sound proud, I am. That involved actual research and stuff, not just re-watching episodes. Buffy and Xander mediating the contention at headquarters. That many girls in one space, these things are bound to happen. That should give the other Scoobies a taste of what Giles has been dealing with lately. Richard and Morgan. I love their story. I love even more how everyone thought he killed her. PEZ-witch. Willow needs a little push in the right direction. And a new bit: Having just reread this in my perpetual hunt for rogue grammatical/orthographical errors in my writing, and also having watched _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_ since the last time I read it, it's now much easier to visualize Vi in her scenes, and I think I wrote her very much in character, and even with a bit of Penny's mannerisms, which I didn't realize when I wrote it, as I had yet to watch the charming musical satire at that point. Still. It made me happy, and I thought it worth mentioning. In honor of the more recent edit-athon, I'd just like to add that this is easily my favorite episode so far. I feel like the season really started to feel like a season in episode five, but this is more than just a stand-alone; it's the jumping off point of the rest of the season, and I love it. The mood and the plot twist click so nicely. It just makes me happy.


	7. 8x07: Rewound

Episode 7: Rewound

†

Buffy walked forward. A vast sand dune sloped down at her side, dry weeds poking up through it here and there. Jagged red rocks rose high above her, hiding the scorching sun behind them. Clouds raced overhead at unnatural speeds, then everything froze, including the crackling weeds. "This place...I've been here before," she realized. She was sure her mouth hadn't spoken the words, but her voice echoed around her all the same. It sounded ghostly and strange. She shivered.

"And now you return." Buffy was startled by the deep, rumbling voice, but still turned slowly and calmly to find its source. An enormous white tiger stood there, so tall that its head was on a level with hers, staring deeply into her with eyes full of bright blue flame. She felt no fear. She knew, somehow, that it was not going to attack. She felt as though, if she wanted to, she could walk right up to it and scratch it behind the ears.

"Always something new, huh?" she said, her mouth still not moving.

"I'm not surprised you don't recognize me," replied the tiger.

"Recognize y— ," Buffy began, confused, but she broke off, her eyes widening. "The little mountain lion?"

"That was the form I took in your world."

"And this is what you really look like?"

"Yes, but it has not always been so. I am connected to the Slayer line. I change as it changes. Once, and for many ages, there was but one Chosen. Then, two. Now, almost two thousand."

"Why am I here?"

"The harmony of your spirit has been disrupted. In order to heal the breach and return to your world, you must follow the paths of those who came after Morgan Stromberg until you reach yourself again."

"Sounds good, I guess," said Buffy, not entirely sure she understood. Before she could ask for clarification, the scenery blurred and went dark.

†

Willow stared off at the lake and took a bite out of her apple. Xander, who had already finished his own apple, was merely sitting beside her on the dock in silence. He and his crew mates on _The Aleida_ had hauled in a good catch (Xander gave off a powerful smell of fish to prove it), so the captain gave them the rest of the day off. The serene atmosphere was a rare reprieve for both of them, to get out of the mild pandemonium that was life with upwards of forty young Slayers.

"Remember that time, when we were like eight?" said Willow nostalgically after swallowing. "Our parents took us out to play at the beach."

"Because mine were too cheap to take me to an actual pool, you mean?"

"Oh, come on, like the beach isn't ten times more fun than the pool," said Willow, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, only five dollars is a fair price to pay for a certain lack of undertow," said Xander.

"Oh yeah," said Willow, grimacing. "Good thing you held on to that floatie so tight."

"And Jesse was there." Xander hurled his apple core far over the water.

"Yeah," said Willow.

"You know, ever since..." Xander swallowed. He could do this. It had been months. "Ever since I lost Anya, I've had these moments where I try to think how I could have done something different, so she'd still be here. And now I go back even farther and think of all the other stuff I should have changed. Maybe Jesse would still be here too. Maybe I could have learned to shut my idiot mouth and not have made Kennedy hate Oz. Hell, I even feel guilty for not telling Buffy you were gonna put Angel's soul back like you wanted me to."

"You can't drown yourself in guilt," said Willow bracingly. "You've got to move on and be strong, you know? It's too late to do anything about that stuff. And, I mean, of the two of us here, which one actually has the serious guilt baggage to deal with?" Then she frowned as she realized what he had said. "Wait, how did _you_ make Kennedy hate Oz?"

He flinched.

"Xander," she said imperiously.

"Okay, okay," he said reluctantly. "I was playing video games with Kennedy, and kinda might have mentioned that you and Oz used to be together. Again, I know I'm an idiot, but, in my defense, isn't that something you should have told her?" Willow sighed.

"I didn't want to bring it up. I just—I didn't know how to deal with it. Oz and I...that was a long time ago, and we're both different now, a lot, and I've got Kennedy..." She trailed off uncertainly, frowning at the water.

"Look, I'm pretty sure it's not really my business," said Xander cautiously, "but as demon-magnet Xander, I've had kind of a _lot_ of relationship problems over the years, and it looks like you're having them. As in, for example, you're here right now, in the middle of a beautiful day, when Kennedy doesn't have to be slaying. Not that I'm not grateful for quality time with the Wilster, but..."

Willow took a very large bite out of her apple and avoided his gaze. This proved to be a very effective stalling technique, for, just as she swallowed, her cell phone rang. She pulled it out and looked at the front. "It's Giles," she said.

"Maybe Buffy woke up," Xander suggested hopefully. It hadn't been a full day yet, so they weren't quite up to panicking, but both were eager for their friend to regain consciousness.

"Hi Giles," said Willow.

"Willow! Can you and Xander return to headquarters immediately?" he said frantically.

"Of course—what's wrong? Is it Buffy?"

"No, she's still asleep. However, I rather think you should see this for yourself," he replied.

Willow thought she heard shrill laughter in the background. "What's that?"

"Just get here." He hung up.

"What the—," said Xander.

"Time to go," said Willow. The two of them got stiffly up from the dock and made their way back to shore.

†

"Wait, no. Is this what I have to do?" asked an irate Buffy. She had just watched the condensed version of the slaying career of the Australian Slayer who followed Morgan Stromberg in the line. She was the daughter of a wealthy family in Sydney, and had been called at seventeen. Three months later, she met her death at the hands—or, as the case happened to be, poison-coated tentacles—of a pack of demons. In response to Buffy's question, the enormous tiger merely stared ahead. "What good does this do? I'm needed in Cleveland, not in the late thirties where all I can do is watch when a Slayer gets killed!"

"They will not perceive you long gone."

"But I get to feel like this takes forever. Great. Let's get this over with." The scene, with the dead girl and the bodies of the few demons she had managed to take with her, dissolved, to be replaced by the near pitch darkness of the inside of a building. The only things visible were the two glowing blue orbs that were the eyes of the tiger next to her. Buffy could hear a sound that might have been sniffling from a corner. She was about to call out, but remembered with a pang of annoyance that she was currently little more than a phantom.

A door creaked suddenly open, flooding the room with light. The corner where Buffy had heard sniffling was illuminated, to reveal a girl huddled there, hugging her knees.

"Fräulein Heidrich?" came a voice from the door. Buffy whipped round again to see the tall man standing there, wearing a long heavy overcoat, hat, and gloves. Small pools of melted snow formed around his boots.

"Come to take me like you took my aunt, uncle, and cousins?" asked the girl. She had risen to her feet, and now glared defiantly at the man.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you," he said. The girl look puzzled.

"Wait a second," said Buffy to her tiger guide, again, without moving her lips. "They're speaking German. Why am I understanding English if they're speaking German? Is this like that time with the Shadow Men?" She could have sworn the great cat smiled, but that was all the response she got. "Great. I'm a passive observer by default, and stuck with a giant Cheshire cat."

"Who are you?" asked the girl.

"My name is Hans Kaufmann," he said, "And you would be Julia Heidrich, yes?"

"I am. Why are you here?"

"Well, certainly not to drag you off to one of those dreaded camps, if that's what you feared. I'm here to inform you of your calling, and to smuggle you to Switzerland to begin your training."

"Calling?"

"Fräulein Heidrich, you are the Vampire Slayer." Julia blinked at him. "I know this might be difficult to accept and understand right away, but—"

"Herr Kaufmann, you said you'd get me to Switzerland?" she interrupted.

"I did, and I will."

"Then I don't care how crazy you are. Get me the hell out of this God-forsaken country."

"Excellent. Follow me," he said. She quickly donned her own heavy winter clothing, and he led her down two flights of stairs, then cautiously out of the building after first making very certain that nobody was on the street. They hurried around the side of the building to a manhole already brushed clean of snow and slush. For nearly two hours, they made their way through the sewer tunnels of Berlin, and Buffy was amazed that Hans could continue on so confidently through so many forks and bends. Finally, he led the way up a ladder to a deserted street. Night had fallen while they moved through the tunnels. A beat up '31 Mercedes convertible was parked a few yards away beneath a tree, and they got in.

The surroundings blurred again, and Buffy found herself in the backseat of the car. The tiger was nowhere to be seen, and the night was much farther on. Buffy saw Hans' face pale through the rear-view mirror.

"They've spotted us."

"The brownshirts?" asked Julia in panic. She whipped round in her seat, and stared straight through Buffy at the road behind. Buffy turned as well, and saw another car behind them.

"Unless someone else got hold of a Keubelwagen," said Hans.

"Why are they following us?"

"Patrols follow everyone. I'm not exactly legally in this country, and you're not legally a human being, according to those Aryan bastards."

"You're Aryan," Julia pointed out.

Hans turned to glare at her through crystal blue eyes, a lock of his curly white-blond hair poking out from under his hat. Buffy repressed a snort, forgetting that she couldn't be heard anyway. "_I_ am Swiss," he corrected huffily. "I don't give a Papiermark for being Aryan or Jewish or Romani or any of it."

Julia smiled, before looking back at the ever-looming Keubelwagen. "It's getting closer," she said.

"I know."

"What's _that_?"

"What?" he asked.

"Are they drunk?"

Buffy turned. The Keubelwagen was careening madly on the street behind them.

"Good Lord," said Hans, "they're being attacked."

"Attacked?" asked Julia. Hans hit the brakes. "What are you doing? This is our chance to escape!"

"This is your calling. Not even they deserve this end."

"What end? An automobile accident? What can I do about it?"

"You'll see," he said cryptically. The car stopped, and he got out. As the out of control vehicle came nearer, they could hear horrified yells from the men inside. Hans pulled a wooden stake from within his coat, and tossed it to Julia, who caught it without taking her eyes off the Keubelwagen. She brought it before her eyes and stared at it in confusion. "Go!" said Hans urgently.

"I'm glad I didn't have to save Nazis on my first slay," Buffy muttered as Julia ran to the Keubelwagen, which had just screeched to a halt. One of the men inside burst out, slammed the door behind him, and knocked into her.

"What happened?" she asked him.

"A monster!" he said, almost incoherent with terror. Julia pushed him aside and went up to the door. With the hand not clutching the stake, she grabbed the door handle and pulled. The door was ripped cleanly off, and she tossed it aside. The Nazi officer backed hastily away from her. Julia reached inside and pulled out the vampire currently attempting to drain the driver's blood, and threw him down on the road next to the door.

"You've got to put the stake through his heart!" cried Hans. And Julia did so, as if on autopilot, then stared in shock at the bits of dust floating back to the ground.

"What?" she said, staring from the stake to where the vampire had been, bewildered.

"Are there any more?" asked Hans urgently. Julia looked into the vehicle, but there were only two very disheveled and frightened Nazi officers staring silently back at her. She noticed with a sinking sensation that the still bleeding driver was looking at the gold Star of David sewn into her coat with narrowed eyes.

"No," she said.

"Let's go," said Hans. He tipped his furry cap awkwardly at the officer still cowering in the snow, then opened Julia's door for her, went back around to his side, and drove off.

The scenery blurred yet again, and when it smoothed back to normal, Buffy noticed that it was nearly midday, but they were still in the car. Julia had fallen asleep, and Hans' eyelids were drooping, but he shook his head and continued to drive. They had long since driven the flat lands of Brandenburg, and were now among the mountains near the south-western borders Sachsen-Anhalt, in the heart of Germany.

"Why did I get sent here?" Buffy wondered aloud, for it wasn't as if the other passengers would notice. "For the Aussi girl, I only saw her called, then her first slay, and then...her...last. Oh, no." She looked apprehensively in every direction, and, sure enough, spotted a vehicle rounding a bend in the road behind them. She couldn't be positive, but it looked remarkably like the Keubelwagen Julia had just rescued from the vampire. Hans, in his only semi-effective efforts to remain awake at the wheel, had not yet seen it.

"Oh, come on!" Buffy shouted in frustration. "She just saved your pathetic lives! That doesn't cut her some slack? She hasn't even been the Slayer a whole day yet!" But, of course, nobody could hear her. Within moments, the Keubelwagen had caught up to the '31 Mercedes. Hans was now fully awake, as was Julia, and both of them immediately began to panic.

"They followed us through _two provinces_?" shrieked Julia, while Hans desperately tried to put more distance between the two vehicles. One of the officers inside, the one who had knocked into Julia in the process of fleeing in terror from the vampire, leaned out of the Keubelwagen where the passenger door used to be, and aimed his bulky Maschinengewehr 34 at their car. Julia did the only thing she could do, and pelted the wooden stake at him. It pierced him like an arrow straight through his right shoulder. He screamed and dropped the gun, which clattered behind them on the road. The other officer within shoved him aside and aimed his own machine gun at them.

This time, there was nothing they could do. With successive ear-splitting bangs, the bullets went straight through a horrified and incorporeal Buffy until they found their targets.

†

Willow and Xander approached the headquarters building, exchanging mystified looks. Xander pulled out his key card and swiped it. The door opened to reveal the completely ordinary, deserted first floor. Confused, they headed for the stairs. Here, they began to hear what might have been the source of Giles' panic.

"Why does it sound like recess up there?" asked Xander. More childish shrieks and sounds of running met their ears.

"Let's find out," said Willow apprehensively. They climbed the stairs. The scene from the second floor landing was one of utter chaos. Thirty little girls, all of whom seemed to be clad only in shirts which were much too large for them, were on the loose. Some were making a mess of the kitchen as they ransacked the fridge and pantry. Others were drawing on the walls, or playing a very raucous game of tag all around the room. A rather small batch was calmly watching _The Little Mermaid _and singing along with enthusiastic discordance to "Kiss the Girl". Giles stood in the midst of all this, an expression of horrified exasperation on his face. Willow and Xander hurried over to him.

"Giles, what happened?" asked Willow, hastily dodging as the girl who was currently "It" chased her quarries around their legs.

"About half an hour ago, when I was contentedly researching downstairs, I came up to make more tea, and found this...madness," said Giles.

"Okay, but when did Slayer headquarters turn into daycare?" asked Xander.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Giles, who was now, predictably, cleaning his already perfectly clean glasses with a handkerchief. As another of the little girls cruised past at hazardous speeds, Willow started.

"Kennedy?" she asked, bewildered. The girl stopped in her tracks, and looked up at Willow with a defiant scowl on her face. There was no doubt that she was indeed the five-year-old version of Kennedy.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

"I'm...uh...your mom's friend," said Willow, thinking fast. Little Kennedy was no longer interested. She ran off after the others after first sticking out her tongue as rudely as she could at the three grownups. Willow blinked.

"Wait, if that was Kennedy, these little kids are all...Slayers?" asked Xander.

"I thought that was obvious," said Giles. "Why else would they only be girls, dressed only in blouses that fit them like tents, and _here_ in the first place?"

"Oh. I guess that merits a 'duh'," said Xander.

"How did this happen?" asked Willow.

"No idea," said Giles, "Like I said, I found them like this."

"Holy crap," came a familiar voice from the stairs. The three of them turned to see Cole and Oz standing there in complete shock. A little black-haired girl had latched herself firmly around Cole's left leg.

"Guess it's not just Alex, then," said Oz mildly.

"No indeed," said Giles.

"Was it a spell?" asked Cole, trying in vain to detach little Alex from his leg.

"I don't see how it could have been anything else," said Willow, "but they're all being so loud I can't pick anything up." She threw her hands up in frustration.

"Did it happen to Buffy?" asked Xander.

"No," said Giles, "I checked. She's still twenty-two, and still asleep. My guess is that whatever is keeping her unconscious is protecting her body from mystical interference."

"Lucky her," said Oz.

"Giles," said Willow, "since you look incredibly sick of this already, how about you go downstairs and research. I'll try to give them a little magic show to get them distracted and quiet, and maybe figure out what's going on, and," she turned to face Xander, Oz, and Cole, "you three can help me." Giles gratefully did as she suggested while the three young men all attempted to round up the mini Slayers. They had little success until Willow started a brilliant display of harmless, dancing, magical fireworks by the dining table. Transfixed, every girl in the room gathered around her. Several tried to catch the fireworks, but they remained just out of reach.

"Nice moves, Gandalf," said Cole. Even Alex had joined the group, too awed by the fireworks to continue clinging to Cole's leg.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of the Weasley twins' fireworks from the new book, but that works too."

†

Giles had instructed the reference book to fill with text on anything that could alter age. So far, he had read through several different spells, none of which would have been powerful enough to turn so many girls into five-year-olds. The one he was currently reading didn't even work at all, but had been a hoax sold by Medieval con-artists to those seeking the Fountain of Youth. Giles was soon immersed in the account, the fact that this particular bit was irrelevant escaping his notice. He chuckled as he read of some of the people tricked into it who had sprouted warts everywhere upon attempting the spell.

†

"Getting anything, Wil?" asked Xander.

"Well, it's definitely a spell, but then, that was sort of obvious," said Willow. She, Xander, Oz, and Cole, watched as the girls happily played with the fireworks.

"Anything more specific?" Cole asked. Willow shot him an annoyed look.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm magic-radar Willow who is conveniently the only one who can do this, so let's not be patient at all...," she grumbled.

"Sorry," said Cole, holding up his hands. "Take your time."

Oz smirked.

Willow closed her eyes and concentrated harder. "Hey," she said after a minute, "this stuff feels familiar."

"What do you mean?" asked Cole.

"I mean like, whoever cast the spell on them, I think we've met them before," she said, still not opening her eyes.

"What, you mean Amy or someone?" asked Xander. "Because I don't think we need another helping of her jealous spell-casting badness."

"No, I don't think Amy's behind this. I mean, after someone shoots you up with their magic, you can pretty much recognize their spells."

"Amy-the-rat Amy?" said Oz, confused.

"She's not a rat anymore," said Xander. "Nope, now she's bad influence magic girl who's jealous of Willow passing her up in the power department."

"I kinda think she might have been better off as a rat," Oz mused.

"You people have very strange lives," said Cole.

"Welcome to the club," said Xander.

†

"Why are you making me see this?" Buffy demanded. Infuriatingly, the enormous tiger merely gazed at her through those fiery eyes. Even though the creature would likely pose a rather significant threat if provoked, Buffy wished it would at least shout back. Its serene attitude in the face of her wrath made her feel like she would explode. "I have to just _watch_ every Slayer between me and Morgan Stromberg come to a horrible death, and I can't do _anything_ about it," she continued angrily. "Okay, so, watching Drusilla get the unliving crap beaten out of her by the Czech Slayer and the rest of the Prague mob _was_ fun," she admitted. It had actually been very illuminating to see that particular piece of Slayer history. She had never really understood why Drusilla had spent the first few months of her stay in Sunnydale in such a weakened condition, given that vampires couldn't exactly get sick, but apparently someone in Prague had used a poison similar to the kind Faith used on Angel on her, only this had been extremely slow-acting and obviously required a different cure than Slayer blood.

"But everything else? _Not_." She registered dimly how strange it was to shout without moving her lips, but it wasn't stopping her. "There was that one girl who lasted _four years._ She was a better Slayer than me, and then that same red-haired vamp chick who killed a Slayer in the forties and another in the sixties comes out of nowhere and breaks her like a twig. And I really didn't want to actually _watch_ when Spike killed Nikki Wood. Him telling me about it was all I could stand to know already!" Her heart jolted painfully at the mention of Spike. She had been trying to avoid thinking about him as much as possible, because it still hurt and she couldn't afford to wallow in grief with the elusive Cleveland Hellmouth still looming over her head like an axe. On the whole, she thought she was doing rather well in that department, but things like this did not make it easier.

"You must learn," said the tiger. This did not help Buffy's mood.

"What the hell! Watching all of their deaths isn't like some training video! I see stuff like this in my regular dreams anyway! Why can't I just wake up already?"

"It is impossible. One does not appear at a destination. The journey must be taken."

"Pfft, please! Willow can teleport," Buffy scoffed, "That's 'appearing at a destination,' isn't it?"

"And yet she arrives as if she had done the physical traveling. Drained. You can have no idea how dire the effects would be for you to return without taking the time to walk these paths."

"And how much time exactly does that translate to for the real world?" asked Buffy irritably. "Because if I've really been out for how long I _feel_ like I've been out..."

"The elapsed time is not proportionate. I believe you have experience in such matters?"

"You know, I could have killed that stupid demon for Morgan myself. Then I wouldn't be stuck in past Slayer marathon mode."

"Are you ready to continue?"

"Guess I don't have a choice," she said grudgingly. For what was at least the hundredth time, their surroundings blurred and changed.

†

Giles had finally found what they were looking for. It was a spell called "Solvo Liberi", which, as they had observed, could revert a person or persons to being helpless children, leaving them with no memory of anything after their original childhood. The counter-spell was also listed, but, unhelpfully, could only be performed by the original caster. Giles slammed his fist angrily on the wood of the table. He marked his place in the book and got slowly up to go share his findings with the others, thinking he would ask Willow if she could somehow trace the caster's magical signature. Before he reached the stairs, however, the phone rang. He walked back curiously and picked it up. He couldn't think who it would be; everyone was already here. It might have been Wesley, but Giles somehow doubted it.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hello, Ripper." Giles' eyes widened, and he dropped the phone before running up to find Willow.

"Giles, did you find the spell?" asked Xander.

"I did, but that's not the problem," he said, panting slightly.

"Oh, really? What is, then?" asked Cole sarcastically.

"Ethan Rayne," said Giles. Xander, Willow, and Oz all gaped at him.

"But isn't he in military prison, or something?" Willow protested.

"Yeah, I thought Riley's army buddies hauled him off," Xander agreed.

"Well, clearly they didn't lock him up very well," said Giles, "because he just called."

"That's why the magic seemed familiar!" said Willow triumphantly. "I wasn't nearly as good a witch back when he was messing with us in Sunnydale, so I wouldn't recognize his magic as easily as Amy's, but I _knew _it felt familiar!"

"That's what I was getting to next," said Giles, "Can you track him?"

"I can try," said Willow uncertainly.

"Who's Ethan Rayne?" asked Cole.

"One of Giles' buddies from his rebellious days," said Oz. Cole shot Giles an incredulous look. Giles rolled his eyes.

"Every time we ran into him in Sunnydale, he kind of caused mayhem," said Willow.

"Us into our costumes, adults into teenagers, Giles into a demon," said Xander casually. "Good times."

"You can finish catching Mr. Knight up after we've dealt with Ethan," said Giles impatiently. "Willow, here's the spell he used," he added, ignoring Cole's expression at being called "Mr. Knight".

"Thanks," said Willow, taking the reference book from him. He looked over at the crowd of giggling little girls, who were amazingly still being entertained by Willow's magical pyrotechnics display. Despite his irritation and the strain of the past few hours, Giles couldn't help smiling fondly at them. When they weren't causing utter pandemonium, they really could be quite adorable.

Little Alex ran up at that point and tugged on Cole's arm. "Viene il gioco, Cole," she said insistently. Evidently she hadn't quite mastered English by age five. Cole had little choice but to follow her back to the crowd of little girls.

"So how come she recognizes him?" asked Xander, puzzled.

"They've known each other since she and her mom moved to the U.S.," said Oz. "They used to be neighbors. When she first turned into a little kid, he managed to convince her that he was her friend Cole, just all grown up."

"Aw, that's sweet," said Willow.

"The spell," Giles reminded her.

"Oh, right," she said, hastily looking back down at the book. A few moments later, she looked up again triumphantly. "Ethan has to undo it. That means it's linked to him, which means I can track him."

"Oh, good," said Giles in relief. Willow hurried over and sat cross-legged on the dining table.

"Okay," she said loudly over the little girls' chatter, "I need help from one of you."

"I can help!" said Kennedy proudly, and she ran out from the heart of the tight pack playing with fireworks, and made an elaborate show of climbing up on the table to sit with Willow.

"This shouldn't be weird at all," Willow muttered dully to herself before pasting on an encouraging smile for little Kennedy. "Okay, Kennedy, want to help me with some magic?"

Kennedy scowled. "Magic is stupid!" she proclaimed.

"But you liked the fireworks!" said Willow, feeling a little hurt and then a little ridiculous.

"Okay, I'll help," said Kennedy, shrugging.

"Right. Where you're sitting is good. Now, put your hands in mine, and close your eyes." Kennedy stuck her tongue out again, but grabbed Willow's hands and closed her eyes. Willow concentrated. It wasn't long before she had locked down on the traces of Ethan Rayne's magical signature. She grimaced. It had a distinctly bitter, crackly, raw feel to it, which she identified as attributes of Chaos, the source of his power. This was definitely something she wanted to get done with as quickly as possible. She caught hold of that trace and focused on it. Kennedy squirmed a little, but Willow told her to sit still. Kennedy looked up at Willow's face to give a mutinous reply, but her eyes widened and she sat as still as a statue, all impudence forgotten. Willow's eyes had gone black.

Cole, who had noticed this as well, looked over at Giles, Xander, and Oz. "Is she...okay?" he asked.

"Maybe this was a bad plan," said Xander.

"Ethan's not exactly the most wholesome of sorcerers," said Oz, "What if his magic infects her?"

"It won't. Ethan's power pales pathetically in comparison to hers," said Giles firmly. "Most people's magic does. I might have been worried last year, but not now." The corners of Oz's mouth twitched up in a slight smile at this.

"Gotcha," said Willow, a grin of triumph stretching her features. In a brilliant flash of crackling white energy, she had vanished.

"Whoa," said little Kennedy. All of the other girls cheered, then began chattering about how awesome the magic lady was. Xander smiled fondly in wholehearted agreement.

"I doubt Ethan will be expecting this," said Giles. He couldn't repress a happy chuckle at the thought of Ethan coming up against Willow.

"I guess some things don't change," said Oz, noticing Giles' glee.

"Where did she go?" asked one of the girls loudly.

"She went to get a bad man to make him take back a mean spell," said Xander.

With Willow's absence, the spectacular magical fireworks (with which the girls were at last getting bored anyway) faded. It wasn't long before the little balls of energy were on their way towards wreaking havoc upon the building again. Fortunately, before they could spread their path of destruction farther than the second floor, Oz and Cole procured their instruments from the van and began to play. This proved almost as effective as the fireworks. They played the slower songs of their latest album, _Segue_, and soon had the girls clapping along. Cole was amused to see little Alex banging spoons against an overturned pot, serving as their very crude percussion section. Giles thought wistfully of his own guitar, which was still at his home in Westbury.

Oz and Cole's distraction worked, and the crowd of girls was still so riveted by their music that they didn't even notice the second small explosion of light that heralded the arrival of Willow, a magically bound Ethan Rayne in tow.

For the space of about a second, Willow caught the tender expression in Oz's eyes as he played for his young audience, and she was mesmerized. But then the music stopped, Ethan spoke, and the moment was gone. She felt the weariness which always followed teleporting dragging at her, but she shook it off and let no sign of it reach the surface.

"Someone certainly has come into her own since our last meeting," said Ethan, looking at Willow in impressed alarm.

"Reverse the spell, Ethan," said Giles, his tone dangerous.

"Come, Rupert, it's only been in effect for a couple of hours. That's no fun," he said.

"How did you escape military prison?" asked Xander curiously.

"Simple," he said, shrugging, "built up my energy for an unbelievably long forty-four months, then teleported out. I'd never done that before. Quite a ride. You should have seen the nose-bleed I got for it. Thought I'd hemorrhaged. And the headache? Well, let's just say no mere hangover will ever faze me again."

"And the first thing you do when you're free is to find us and see how annoying you could be?" asked Willow.

"Naturally," said Ethan. "I can't help myself. You lot are so much more fun to play with than anyone else."

"We try," said Oz.

"Is this the bad man?" piped up little Rona, pointing at Ethan.

"Yes. He's very bad," said Cole, feeling immediately ridiculous for his word choice.

"Oh, look at all the bitty Slayers," said Ethan, turning to grin down at the forty or so little girls arrayed before Cole and Oz. "Hmm. Don't see my favorite one, though."

"Didn't work on Buffy, if that's what you mean," said Xander.

"Oh. Pity," said Ethan.

"Enough, Ethan, reverse the spell," said Giles.

"Or what?" he asked. Willow glared at him, cocking her head threateningly. He gulped. "Ah. Of course. No need to, er, persuade me, Red. I've had my fun. I'll just, er, reverse it then, shall I?" They all nodded. He began to mutter in Latin, and when he had finished, violet light glowed around each of the little girls, and faded.

"Nothing happened," Xander pointed out after a moment of silence, during which the girls all fidgeted nervously.

"No, it takes a while to wear off," said Ethan. "Good thing, too, considering what they're _not _wearing." He had a point. Though the shirts were currently more than adequate to preserve the girls' modesty, they would prove horribly insufficient once they all reverted to their proper age group. "We wouldn't want them to be embarrassed, would we?" he asked in mock concern.

"No, wouldn't want that," said Xander absently. Willow hit him irritably on the arm. "Ow."

"We'd turn you over to the authorities, but evidently that doesn't do much good in the long run," said Giles, ignoring Xander.

"What about the Coven?" Willow suggested. Her and Giles' faces both cracked into ominous grins.

"Did anyone else think that was creepy?" said Cole under his breath.

"The Coven?" asked Ethan nervously.

"Yes," said Giles, "A group of witches as powerful as Willow. I'm sure they'd be interested in, ah, _repaying_ you for your use of harmful magic over the years. Haven't you heard of them?"

"Oh, bugger," said Ethan.

"Not quite the last laugh at our expense you had planned, huh?" asked Willow, grin still firmly in place.

†

"Nineteen ninety-six," said Buffy. "I'm next. Do I have to get the recap of my own slaying career, too? Because, you know, I kinda was _there_, so that would pretty much just be redundant."

"No," said the tiger. "Once you have been called, your living journey may continue."

"Thank God." She looked sadly at the broken form of the Mexican Slayer who had died rescuing a little kid from a gang of vampires. She wondered, as the scenery melted yet again, whether that kid was still alive in the real present because of her sacrifice. She hoped so.

Buffy squinted against the glaring California sunlight, then felt a great swooping sensation in her stomach as the déjà vu hit her hard. Hemery. Her old high school. And there she was too. Fifteen. Casually sending off her so-called friends, removing her jacket, and sitting down on the steps. Here was the point where her life would change forever. Less than a year with the burden of her calling had been enough, she knew, to mold a completely different person from the superficial, ignorant, and care-free creature sitting there.

Twenty-two-year-old Buffy looked covetously at the lollipop her younger self was eating. It felt like several months at least since she had started her forced march down the past fifty-seven years of her Slayer heritage, and she hadn't exactly been getting complimentary meals along the way. Not that she needed them. She just missed food. Food, sleep, having fun. Her friends, talking to her sister, training with the other Slayers, patrolling. Conscious life in general.

She looked around, knowing her first Watcher was about to show up. She felt a pang as she remembered what it had been like to lose him. He had never meant as much to her as Giles did, but she had still been strongly affected by his death. She didn't need to actually see the events of her own life replayed to see it in her mind. How much had happened since that afternoon outside her school...

Sure enough, there came Merrick, gravely serious as always, and ridiculously overdressed for the heat. But Buffy was distracted from him by something else. Something that had definitely escaped her notice the first time she lived through this. A blacked-out old car that looked like it had been salvaged from a dump was parked in the front drive of the school, and a figure was just visible in the shadows of the driver's seat. His greasy dark hair fell lank over the forehead of a grimy face. He winced at the brightness so close to him, but looked cautiously out at the girl now being informed of her destiny. A spark of emotion other than self-loathing ignited in his dark eyes.

Buffy began to walk towards him, when, for the final time, her surroundings dissolved. She sat bolt upright, looking around herself in confusion.

"Oh hey, welcome back," said Willow.

"Huh?" she asked, then realized that she was in her room. "Willow!" She jumped up and hugged her friend, who returned the hug in slight bemusement. Buffy released her. "What day is it?"

"Saturday...," said Willow, raising her eyebrows.

"As in, Saturday the eighteenth of September, two thousand and three?"

"Yes, that Saturday," Willow confirmed, frowning. "When did you think it was?"

"I don't know. So I was only out a day, huh? Neat. What'd I miss?"

"A lot for just a day. Ethan Rayne disappointed everyone who hoped we'd make it as long as four whole years without him raining chaos on us again."

"What? I thought Riley locked him up!" said Buffy.

"He got out," said Willow.

"Oh. What happened? There wasn't candy involved, was there?"

"No candy. Just a spell. He turned all of the other Slayers into five-year-olds. It was kind of insane around here for a few hours. They're back to normal now, and I dumped Ethan off with the Coven. They're not happy with him." She grinned smugly.

"Wow."

"What about you? I mean, with the being unconscious?"

"Oh. Well, there was this insanely huge tiger thing, really pretty, but kind of annoying, which sent me through scenes from the slaying careers of all of the Slayers between Morgan Stromberg and me. I should go tell Giles. I bet I can top the Watcher Diaries with all my fun new third-person omniscient experience."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled," said Willow, who was close to laughing at Buffy's hyperness.

Buffy beamed at her and hopped up, reveling in the fact that she was finally solid again, then bounded out to find Giles.

* * *

Author's note time! The enormous tiger guide. I have a poster of a tiger with eyes like that, and I was just staring at it, and it proved very inspirational. Buffy's trip through her Slayer heritage. Slayer history was always important in the show, and so it shall be in my fanfic. Julia's death at the hands of Nazis. Nazis are bad news. Avoid them. Mention of Jesse. He was Willow and Xander's best friend for, like, their _whole lives_ pre-season one. He deserves more love than he got in canon. Mention of Drusilla and the Prague mob that put her in the weakened state she shows up in during "School Hard". That was never really explained on the show, so I thought I'd try making it slightly less ambiguous. Besides, I love the madness that is Drusilla. Ethan Rayne. Like the military could really keep him locked up forever. Please. Besides, he's great fun. Bitty Slayers. They're adorable, compact packages of mayhem. As if Giles needs anything else to give him headaches. Also, Willow seeing Oz interacting adorably with little kids was not in there by accident. References to _Lord of the Rings_ and _Harry Potter_. Expect more of them. _Order of the Phoenix_ came out the summer before this was set, and _Return of the King_ hit theaters that Christmas. The Scoobies do not live in a cave. They will experience pop culture. At least the nerdy pop culture. Angel cameo! Yes, that was Angel. Yes, Buffy did recognize him. Yes, I realize that she didn't acknowledge that. Yet. That is all.


	8. 8x08: What Lurks Beneath

Episode 8: What Lurks Beneath

†

Monday, October 13, 2003

"Looks like we've got a nest," said Buffy. She looked inquiringly at Oz, who, as the moon was full, was currently in wolf form. He nodded. The stench of vampires was so strong it was almost overwhelming. The five of them were standing just outside a decrepit building and could hear what sounded like quite the raucous party within.

"Let's go get 'em," said Kat eagerly, twirling her gleaming battle axe in anticipation.

"Are zere very many of zem?" Noëlle asked Oz in her heavy French accent. He nodded vigorously. "Per'aps we should call for backup."

"No, we took out a nest with ten the other day, and we didn't even have Oz then," said Clare dismissively. "We can do it ourselves."

Buffy wasn't sure. The odds still weren't in their favor, and none of the others had as much experience as she did. She looked uncertainly at her companions, then back down at Oz. "What do you think?" she asked him. "Too many for the five of us?" His lip curled in what was unmistakably a smirk and his eyes twinkled. "Good enough for me." Without further debate, she kicked in the door, and they stormed across the threshold.

"Slayers!" cried one of the vampires, and then all seventeen pairs of yellow eyes were on them, and fangs bared.

"Here to crash the party," said Buffy, putting the stake end of her Scythe through the heart of the nearest vampire without even looking at him. Beside her, Noëlle fired her crossbow, taking out the one who had alerted the rest to their presence.

Within seconds, the situation degenerated into complete chaos. A thick-set vampire had seized Buffy's Scythe as she attempted to take his head off with it, and she struggled to jerk it back out of his grip. Kat whirled her axe in a great arc, cleanly beheading two vampires in the same stroke, before getting seized from behind by another pair. Noëlle had to duck as a bolt from her own crossbow, which had been wrenched out of her hands moments before, was fired at her.

†

"You guys notice how there's never anything on this route?" asked Allison dully.

"Yeah," said Rona, still not dropping her guard as they prowled forward. "But there's a first for everything."

"Better we preempt any badness than read about gory death in the newspaper because nobody patrolled here," said Sarah.

"How much longer?" asked Liz impatiently.

"It's not even midnight yet," said Rona. Liz groaned. Rona stopped and rounded on her. "Look, I'm not putting up with this again," she said, poking Liz hard in the chest. "Tomorrow's our night off, and then whatever else you've got planned that's more important..."

"Sorry," said Liz, avoiding her squad leader's gaze. She had found it difficult to adjust to the lifestyle at headquarters. Back home, it had just been her and her dad in a tiny apartment. Now she lived with dozens of girls in an enormous building, shared her room, and, of course, went out on a nightly basis to kill things. Her dad, like many of the other girls' parents, had bought the line about her being accepted to a prestigious boarding school. Part of her, probably the Slayer part, loved it—especially the super-strength that came in the package, but an equally large part of her wanted to go home, where she could eat ice cream with her dad, watch action movies instead of live them, and just in general have the quiet back.

"We've already been around the whole route," said Sarah, "We've never tried the tunnels beneath it, though. Maybe the demons are holed up down there or something." She looked imploringly at Rona with the air of trying to convince a friend to pick her choice of activities on a night out.

"Sure," said Rona. She'd never admit it, but she was just as bored and restless as Liz, and this particular patrol route didn't help. They doubled back to the nearest manhole, removed the cover, and jumped one by one down into the dark sewers.

"Oh, crap, did anyone bring any of that night-vision stuff Willow made?" asked Rona as they tried fruitlessly to see through the pitch darkness. They all dug in their pockets.

"Yeah, here it is!" said Allison, "Oh, wait. Ew. That's just lint. No okay, _here _we go." She fumbled with the drawstring of the tiny leather pouch, and removed a pinch of the powder within, then dabbed it on the corners of her eyes. It burned and itched and made her eyes water horribly. "Oh, man, it's like I stuck my head in a sandblaster. But, hey, I can see now, so it's all good. Here," She held the bag out to her fellows, all of whom she could now see perfectly clearly.

"Uh, Alli?" said Sarah dryly. "We have no idea where your hand is."

"Oh, duh," said Allison, feeling foolish. "Okay, hold still, and I'll put it in for you." She then went around to each of her fellow squad members and gingerly applied it to their eyes. They all blinked like mad for a few seconds, and then looked at each other, impressed.

"Wow, this stuff is incredible! Willow's a genius!" said Sarah appreciatively.

"Pretty much," agreed Rona. The excitement and eagerness inspired by something as simple as being able to see again died as, for the first time, they noticed their surroundings.

"Oh...crap," said Allison in a tiny voice. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were coated in long, silken strands of what was unmistakably a gigantic spider web. Here and there, shriveled corpses in varying states of decomposition were caught up in it. Some were clearly human, but most were demons. "This is a nightmare, right?" she went on, now very pale. "We're actually done patrolling and asleep now, and having a horrible nightmare about being in the lair of a giant spider."

"No such luck," said Rona, bravely leading the way down the tunnel, taking care to step over a part of the web that stretched across their path and ducking to avoid the strands hanging down.

"At least now we know why there are never demons on this route," said Sarah.

"Yeah, 'cause they're all getting munched on by Shelob," said Liz apprehensively. "Any chance she'll go away until _Return of the King _comes out?"

"I think you're thinking of Aragog," said Sarah. Allison and Rona shot them both incredulous looks, but decided not to comment.

"Don't be stupid," Liz retorted, "Aragog lives in a forest. Shelob lives in a tunnel, like where we are now. Besides, if we _were_ dealing with Aragog, there'd be about fifty billion mini-Aragogs all over the place, and this would suck on a far more epic level."

"Well, either way, we haven't got a demented Ford Anglia or the Light of Earendil to use against it," said Sarah, "so—"

"Will you two dorks get your heads out of the fantasy novels and help us kill the friggin' spider?" Rona shrieked in exasperation.

"Sorry," they said together, and the four of them moved on down the tunnel in silence.

†

Kennedy and her squad members left the run-down building panting and somewhat bruised, but triumphant. They had just successfully cleaned out yet another vampire nest. After taking a moment to regain their breath (Erin needing to use her inhaler to do so), they continued on their patrol route. Tonight, that meant the area near Oz and Cole's apartment. The mouth of an alley situated between a bar and a grubby diner came into view. Kennedy led the way towards it. They hadn't gone more than a few yards down the alley before they froze, horrified. There, near the end, was a hideously mauled corpse.

"What could have done this?" asked Erin in revulsion.

"Something with giant teeth and claws," said Alex, careful to stop just before she had come within ten feet of it.

"And it looks like we barely missed it," said Laurel. "It's still...steaming." She hastily leaned over the dumpster on the bar's side of the alley and retched into it.

"Well, there is one explanation," said Kennedy, who was completely unfazed by the grotesque sight. She walked forward squatted down next to the body and examined it more closely, then stood up again and gave her fellow Slayers darkly significant looks. "It's a full moon tonight."

"Meaning?" asked Alex coolly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Meaning," said Kennedy, "we know someone who comes by here every day, who happens to transform into a very dangerous creature around now." She ignored the shocked looks she was getting from Laurel and Erin, not to mention the mounting fury from Alex, and continued. "I mean, the guy is smart, not quite human, and he hardly ever says anything. How are we supposed to know what he's really think—"

"_Shut up!_" Alex shouted at her. Kennedy blinked. She and Alex normally got along remarkably well, but now the girl was shouting at her as if she'd just mortally offended her. "You don't know anything about Oz, except that he used to date your girlfriend! I've known him for three and a half years now! He's one of my best friends! I'm not pretending I know everything about him, but here's what I do know. He's quiet, he's funny, and he's one of the coolest guitarists I've ever met. But most importantly, he's a good man, and I trust him with my life. In fact, I'm told he's already saved it. He didn't leave behind his whole life in Sunnydale and the one person he loved more than anything so he could spend years learning to control his wolf _just_ to turn around and do more horrible things than it ever had _on purpose_! He kills demons, just like _we_ do. _He_ did _not_ do this."

"Yeah? Or maybe you're just too stupid and blinded by friendship to see what's right in front of you," Kennedy shot back. Before she saw it coming, Alex had hit heras hard as she could across the face. She was knocked back a few feet by the blow, but she recovered quickly. Blood streaming from both nostrils, she side-kicked Alex in the stomach, completely winding her. Before either of them could do anything else, Erin and Laurel had pinned their arms firmly behind their backs.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you two?" Erin demanded.

"What if the thing that really did this had heard you shouting and turned up and attacked while you were fighting?" said Laurel.

"Fighting amongst ourselves will only get us killed!" said Erin.

"And Kennedy, Oz is patrolling with Buffy's squad tonight, so back off," Laurel added.

"Whatever. Let's just find this thing," Kennedy muttered sourly, jerking free of Laurel's grip. Erin warily released Alex, and the group of Slayers spread out in the alley, looking for anything that might point their way to the thing responsible for the corpse.

"Here," said Erin after a minute of silent work. The other three hurried over to her, Laurel careful to stand between Kennedy and Alex, who were now both acting as if the other didn't exist. A tiny smear of blood, still wet, was partially obscured under a crate at the very end of the alley. They quickly moved the heavy crate aside, revealing a large, jagged hole in the pavement.

"I guess it didn't want to find a manhole," said Alex. All four of them tightened their grips on their weapons.

"Anyone bring some of that night-vision powder stuff?" asked Kennedy. Laurel had. She pulled a small leather pouch from a pocket and passed it around. They each dabbed a pinch of the pale orange powder on the corners of their eyes, then blinked furiously to adjust to the rough texture. Laurel felt immensely grateful that she had worn glasses instead of contacts this time, because it could have been much worse. Within seconds, all four of them could see as clearly as if it were midday, and, one by one, they dropped through the hole into the sewer beneath, which was mercifully dry.

"What could have made a hole like that?" Laurel whispered.

"I'm trying not to think about it," said Erin.

"_Not_ a werewolf," said Alex pointedly. Kennedy scowled at her.

"Maybe it was a giant scorpion-looking thing with a wrecking ball for a tail?" suggested Erin, who had fallen slightly behind as she examined the walls.

"I thought you weren't thinking about it," said Kennedy, frowning.

"Don't have to," Erin squeaked. Alex, Laurel, and Kennedy whipped around and, as one, recoiled in horror. The thing was as tall as they were, with enormous, bloodstained, serrated claws, a gaping mouth with multiple rows of teeth, and three tails. The middle tail ended in a large hard lump twice the size of a bowling ball, while the other two were long and whip-like.

†

Clare delivered a knee hard into the gut of the vampire she was facing, and as he doubled over, completely stunned, she jammed her stake up through his chest, then ripped it back out and slammed it into a vampire creeping up behind her, and was engulfed in dust as both of them disintegrated. Oz leapt at one of the vampires holding Kat and sent him crashing to the ground, where he then proceeded to tear violently at the throat, not pausing to allow himself the intense revulsion his actions warranted, until the head had been completely torn off, and both it and the body turned to dust.

"Thanks," said Kat, before beheading the other vampire much more cleanly with her axe.

Across the dingy room, Buffy let out a grunt of pain as she was slammed against the wall, still fighting to free her Scythe from the vampire's death grip. Her opponent grinned, displaying his fangs, but if he thought that would be anywhere near enough to unnerve _this_ Slayer, he was sorely mistaken, for the next second, Buffy, still clinging tightly to the Scythe, leapt up and somersaulted over his head, landing so they were back to back. The next thing he knew, he had been flipped over onto his stomach. The force of impact at last loosened his grip on the Scythe, and Buffy wrenched it away from him. He hastily got up on his hands and knees, preparing to spring up and renew his attack, but was too slow. His last few seconds were spent staring in slight bewilderment at the wooden tip of the Scythe protruding from his chest. When Buffy turned to find her next foe, she was pleased to see the dust settling from the four vampires her companions had just finished off.

One of the remaining few stood between her and Oz, and they converged upon it, though this one was determined not to go down without a fight. A well-aimed fist sent Oz flying back, feeling as though his jaw was broken, and the next blow, which was delivered straight to Buffy's stomach, lifted her off her feet and sent the breath whooshing out of her. She landed on the dusty floor in a heap, gasping unsuccessfully for air. Before she could fully recover, the vampire bore down on her and began repeatedly and viciously kicking her in the gut. She couldn't even draw enough breath to cry out in pain, let alone move. Oz, the pain on the left side of his face forgotten as he saw Buffy's plight, bared his fangs and hurled himself at the vampire. The impact temporarily stunned him, and he toppled over, unable to react in time to prevent the wolf's deadly jaws from locking around his jugular.

Noëlle finally managed to reclaim her crossbow, with which she wasted no time in dusting the vampire who had stolen it from her. Kat hurled her axe at a vampire who had been wise, though a little late, in his attempt to flee the scene. The weapon spun through the air and neatly severed his head from his body before embedding itself in the mouldering wood of the door he had almost reached. Clare elbowed her attacker hard across the face and staked him before he had finished staggering back from the blow.

"Holy crap," panted Kat. "That...was intense."

"Est-ce que ça va?" a concerned Noëlle inquired of Buffy, who was still curled up on the ground and, in response to the question, coughed up an alarming quantity of blood. Almost on cue, Willow appeared out of nowhere in a blinding flash of light, looking panicked.

"Who's hurt?" she asked, looking around. Kat, Clare, and Noëlle all silently pointed at Buffy, and Willow hurried to her side.

"What happened?" she asked the other Slayers.

"One of the vamps punched her in the gut, and then kicked her," said Clare, "I saw when I was wrestling one of his buddies." Willow nodded, then knelt down beside Buffy.

"Hey, Wil," she said feebly. A little more blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and she winced. She couldn't believe that some run-of-the-mill vamp had hurt her so badly.

"Hey, Buff," Willow replied, forcing a smile. "Okay, now, try to hold still. You'll be fine in just a minute." Willow looked back at the other Slayers and Oz, and added, "This is gonna take a little while; you guys check the rest of the building for more vampires." They nodded and departed. With that, Willow placed her hands over Buffy's stomach and devoted all her concentration to magically healing her friend. This was among the most difficult magic she performed, and made teleporting seem rather trivial in comparison.

Willow was so wholly involved in casting the spell to heal Buffy, in fact, that she failed to notice the final vampire, which had emerged from his hiding place at the sight of such easy prey. He smirked at the prospect of taking out the infamous Buffy Summers. The witch would of course be a delicious bonus. If that didn't earn him a fearsome reputation with the rest of the demon community, he didn't know what would.

†

Oz hesitated as he followed Buffy's companions. Then his eyes widened. Next second, his fur bristled, his ears went flat against his head, and a low growl erupted from his throat. The stench of vampire was not entirely residual. At least one of them still walked. Ignoring the startled reactions of the Slayers, Oz whirled around and tore back to the main room. What he saw there ignited a flame of rage inside of him so powerful that it defied coherent thought: that one last vampire was now bearing down on an unsuspecting and defenseless Willow. But he never got to her. Oz took him down at a full sprint as a murderous snarling growl ripped its way out of him. The vampire was knocked clean off his feet by the impact, and he crashed to the ground with the werewolf on top of him. In a flurry of teeth, claws, and blood, Oz had his head completely ripped off within seconds.

He staggered away from the ashes, panting so hard it made his lungs hurt. His senses were still on overdrive from the intense but brief encounter, making everything around him seem crisp and harsh. The metallic tang of the vampire's blood in his mouth, the smell of fear fading from Willow's intoxicating scent, the shades of gray comprising his vision, in which any source of light, no matter how small, now seemed to blaze violently.

In that moment, from when he first saw the vampire approaching Willow to when it crumbled into dust beneath him, he had truly been the wolf. There had been no revulsion in that kill, as there was in every other, only a single-minded, overpowering need to destroy. And that frightened Oz more than anything ever had. This wasn't the transformation where everything that made him Oz went on hiatus for three nights a month, nor the experience of simply being himself in lupine form with additional wolf instincts. No, this was him, Daniel Osbourne, completely embracing his inner beast.

Without intending to, he suddenly found himself turning his horror-widened eyes on Willow. She had finished her healing spell just in time to turn around and see a vampire less than a foot away from her, his golden eyes alight with bloodlust. The magic she had used left her almost no available energy with which to react, but she had barely had time to feel fear before Oz hurtled out of nowhere and collided with the vampire with enough force to send him flying.

The déjà vu had twisted Willow's heart painfully as she watched, suddenly seeing the horribly vivid memory of wolf-Oz ripping out the throat of wolf-Veruca to protect her. To complete the image, present-day Oz looked up at her, the fur all around his muzzle, chest, and paws coated and dripping with fresh, shining blood. The only thing that stopped her from recoiling was the look of pure terror in his eyes. Her cheeks became wet from tears she hadn't been aware of shedding, and they simply stared at each other.

Buffy, who was as much drained from the aftermath of the spell as Willow, but now mercifully pain and injury-free, had missed the entire thing, as had the other three Slayers, who only managed to pursue Oz fast enough to come in at the end.

"What...?" asked Clare blankly, staring from Buffy to Willow to a still heavily panting Oz. Willow jumped, then turned to face her. Oz looked down, now attempting to take deep, calming breaths.

"There, uh, there was one more vampire in here," said Willow, hastily wiping her face dry. "Oz killed it. He saved me—us. Me and Buffy."

"Next time, we call for backup, oui?" said Noëlle, rolling her eyes.

"Probably a good idea," said Buffy, standing up and offering a hand to Willow, who took it and stood as well. Buffy looked over at Oz and was slightly surprised to see how shaken up he looked. "You okay?" she asked him. He shook his head, his eyes still wide and blank. Buffy turned and looked meaningfully at Willow. "Can you take him back? He should get cleaned up; get out of the fight for at least the rest of tonight."

"I know," said Willow quietly. "And you—you take it easy too, okay?"

"I will," said Buffy.

†

The webs covering the walls and impeding their path were becoming steadily denser, so that Rona had begun to hack away at them with her axe in an attempt to clear a path. The strands were thick and very sturdy, but didn't hold up against Slayer strength, so this worked fairly well, though the axe was soon covered in an unpleasant sticky residue from the web.

After about twenty minutes of web-hacking their way forward, the tunnel gave way to a large chamber. In the center, the web stretched from ceiling to floor in an column so large that all four of them wouldn't have been able to reach around it if they linked hands. The only surface devoid of the sticky white silk in here was the floor. More of the shriveled corpses were tangled up in this room than they had seen from the whole time they walked the tunnels.

"This seem like where our spider friend should be to anyone else?" asked Allison nervously.

"Yeah," said Sarah, whose arms were so coated in goosebumps that it was slightly painful.

"I wonder how long it's been living down here," said Liz. "I mean, this is a pretty elaborate lair. Do you think there are eggs in that thing?" she pointed with her sword at the web pillar in the middle of the chamber.

"Could be," said Rona. "Which puts it on our list of things to destroy before we head back."

"I've got a lighter," said Liz. "And I bet this stuff is flammable." She pulled on one of the silken strands, then let it twang back into place.

"Why do you have a lighter?" asked Allison, frowning at her. "You don't smoke."

"Because I like fire?" said Liz, and, when this got her raised eyebrows from the other three, added, "Besides, it could come in handy against a vamp. You never know."

"Okay, well, send it up, then," said Rona. Liz took out her lighter and flicked it to get it going.

What they had all failed to notice as they examined the web pillar was the stealthily approaching behemoth spider. As it happened, the spider had been less than fifty yards behind them in the tunnel the entire time, waiting for them to get caught in its web. But somehow they had avoided that and now they were threatening the nest, so the time of waiting was over.

Just as Liz held out the lighter to the pillar, there was a soft hissing noise behind her, but before she or any of her fellow Slayers could react, what felt like twin white-hot knives jabbed her right between the shoulder blades. An odd, tingly numbness swept from that point through her entire body, and she collapsed.

"Liz!" cried Sarah, as Allison let out a hair-raising shriek at the sight of the monstrous spider.

"Focus!" shouted Rona, "Surround it!" The other two did as they were told, clutching their weapons tighter in an effort to stop their hands from shaking. Rona dodged as the spider lunged at her, its razor sharp pincers clicking together. "See if you can get rid of some of those legs!" she yelled. Sarah and Allison simultaneously slashed their swords at the spider's hairy legs. Sarah's stroke cleanly severed the two rear left legs, while Allison's got one and injured another. The spider promptly went berserk, flailing its remaining five limbs madly. Allison tried to dodge, but one of the legs caught her in the stomach, and she went flying back into the web pillar, where the sticky fibers held her fast. Sarah soon met with equal misfortune, and as hard as she tried, was unable to free herself from the web-covered wall.

That left Rona, who was still face-to-face with the hideous creature, fighting alone. It lunged at her again, and this time came so close to hitting its target that Rona could count all eight of its bulbous red eyes. The next time it came after her, she dodged again, but tripped over a single strand of web that spanned the room at knee height, and went sprawling. Just as the spider scuttled forward to finish her off, it let out a blood-curdling hissing cry. Liz, who was still on the floor and currently beneath the spider, had mustered just enough energy to thrust her sword up through its vast abdomen. Rona leapt to her feet and swung her battle-axe straight between the largest pair of eyes. After writhing and continuing its horrible hissing death rattle for a few moments, the spider rolled, twitching, onto its back, its legs curling tightly against its body.

"And henceforth, I shall call you Sting!" Liz told her sword feebly. She could still feel the poison from the spider's pincers coursing through her, and she was coated in sweat. She rolled over and vomited violently at the base of the web pillar.

"Are you okay?" Rona asked.

Liz giggled weakly in response.

"I'm taking that as a 'no'." Rona then hacked away at the web holding Allison until she fell to the floor, some of the severed strands of web still clinging to her clothes. They both cut Sarah down next, before Rona retrieved Liz's lighter. "Help her," she told Sarah and Allison, and they hauled Liz up from the floor, supporting her between them. Rona set the lighter to the web, which proved very flammable indeed. Within seconds, the whole column was ablaze, and the heat was smothering. Their job done, the four of them hastily made their way back down the tunnel ahead of the flames.

†

"Why couldn't it have just been more vampires?" Laurel groaned.

"Gotta love that Hellmouth," said Alex, "always keeping things interesting." Without warning, the demon charged straight at them, its many legs scuttling and clacking against the cement floor. The two whip tails lashed out, catching Erin and Laurel around their waists before they could move, and slamming them against opposite walls of the tunnel with enough force to make them see stars. At the same time, the middle tail swung up over its back and plunged with deadly force straight at Alex, who only barely managed to dodge by rolling sideways.

As the monster drew back this tail, Kennedy took the opportunity to bring her axe crashing down against its head, but it didn't so much as dent the hard exoskeleton. What was worse, the vibrations from the impact jolted her arm so much that it instantly went numb, causing the axe to drop from her slackened grip, leaving her standing unarmed between the claws.

"Kennedy!" Alex shouted, jumping up just in time to shove her squad leader out of the way, but she was too slow to retract her arm before one of the giant reddish-purple claws closed around it. She screamed in agony as it cut straight to the bone.

Laurel blinked the flashing color from her eyes and swung her sword down at the tail pinning her to the wall. The exoskeleton was far thinner here than on the head, and her stroke cleanly severed it. The amputated portion fell to the floor with Laurel, where it wriggled and flailed like a demented snake, but no longer posed a threat, while the stump spurted a putrid-smelling inky black liquid. Laurel dodged the retaliatory blow from the middle tail, avoided the madly scuttling legs, and slashed her sword with all her strength down through the unprotected joint of the claw still attempting clamped around Alex's arm. It opened, releasing Alex, and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Alex, hissing the air through her teeth in pain, got her revenge by hacking off one of the legs before collapsing against the wall, her left arm now immobile and bleeding profusely. The beast's other claw sliced through the air after her, but hit Laurel instead, slashing deeply across her back. The middle tail came crashing down after her as she crumpled forward with a cry of pain, but Kennedy pushed her clear a split second before it cracked the cement where she had lain. Meanwhile, the third tail, which had been holding Erin from the fight, pinning her arms to her sides so she couldn't free herself, finally released her so that it could coil instead around Kennedy's throat. Kennedy grappled with the tail even as she was hoisted off her feet, her head already going light and tingly as the flow of blood to her brain was cut off. She knew only seconds of consciousness remained to her, but for all her efforts she was not yielded so much as an inch of slack.

Erin, now free, gripped her longsword with both hands and swung it like a golf club straight up through the fleshy underbelly and on, until two halves of the creature collapsed, twitching, to the floor, the tail uncurling from Kennedy's neck as it jerked and thrashed. Kennedy looked at Erin in admiration as she rubbed her throat.

"Newest of the bunch," she gasped, "and you're the only one who didn't get hurt."

Erin blushed. In general, Kennedy rarely spoke to her other than to suggest improvements in her technique, so this was very high praise. "Come on," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead and walking to where Alex and Laurel were nearly passing out from blood loss. "We've got to get them back to the surface." She helped Laurel up, supporting most of her weight.

Kennedy hurried over to Alex, tore the sleeve off her own jacket, and tied it carefully around Alex's arm to slow the bleeding, then helped her up. The four of them made their way back to the gaping hole through which they had come. Kennedy took Laurel from Erin, who leapt easily up through the hole, then reached back down to pull up their injured companions. Finally, Kennedy jumped up after them, and she and Erin concealed the hole beneath the crate once more.

†

"All right, what did everyone encounter tonight?" asked Giles to the group of returned Slayers at large, ready to record it in the journal. He didn't particularly want to know what had happened to Miko's squad, as all four of them were coated in an unpleasant neon-green dripping substance and looked quite desperate to be done with this interview so they could burn their clothes and scrub themselves off in the shower until they bled. Everyone else was giving them a rather wide radius of personal space.

"We hit a kind of intense vamp nest," said Buffy, who still felt slightly irritable about the beating she had taken while her far less experienced companions had only sustained a few minor injuries.

"We killed Shelob," said Liz with a large, vacant grin. Her wound had merited magical attention from Willow, and though the poison had been neutralized, she was still somewhat prone to behaving as if she were on nitrous oxide.

"For those of you who haven't read _Lord of the Rings_, she means we killed a giant spider," Sarah translated, for several of the other Slayers had exchanged confused looks.

"I want to see that movie when it comes out," Xander remarked, earning him a mildly irritated glare from Giles for interrupting.

"And we took out the king scorpion from hell," said Kennedy, still slightly shaken from the encounter. Alex and Laurel had also been magically healed by Willow, who had only ever healed at most two Slayers in one night, and was consequently thoroughly drained, both magically and physically, and had already retired to her room for the night.

After Kennedy, the remaining five squad leaders gave their reports. It turned out that the explanation for Miko's squad's goo-covered state was a simple one. They had encountered a group of demons that had seemed to be entirely filled with the vibrantly colored slime, and it hadn't taken more than a stab or two each for them to burst, showering the four unfortunate Slayers with their innards.

Cole headed out with Alex, who was still compulsively rubbing her arm where it had almost been severed, and everyone else went upstairs to bed. Buffy was already anticipating her conversation with Dawn, who always made a great audience for her (sometimes exaggerated) tales of slayage.

†

It was nearly eleven o'clock the next morning and Oz had yet to come out of his room. Cole wouldn't have minded if it weren't for the fact that they both had class in less than an hour and Oz was the one with the keys to the vehicle. He stood hesitantly before Oz's door for a moment before knocking. No response. He cracked it slowly open. Oz was sitting on the end of his bed, looking completely shell-shocked. Next to him was a half-filled old suitcase.

"Gonna bail?" Cole asked.

Oz looked at him, then back at the floor, and shrugged.

"It's probably not my business, but I don't think running is the way to solve your problems this time," Cole said cautiously.

"Maybe not," Oz mumbled in a thoroughly noncommittal tone.

"Well, I mean, you've got just over a semester to go before you graduate, and the band would suck without you. Also, I think Lorin'll be a little upset if his best man doesn't come to his wedding." That last one earned him a small chuckle from Oz, but Cole became much more serious as he continued, "This is because of what happened on patrol, isn't it?"

Oz nodded.

"And _this _time you want to run? You've been on this routine since like last summer, right? Why does this time change anyth—"

"Willow saw."

"Oh." For the space of about a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Cole found himself voicing what he'd been wanting to ask for at least a month. "You still love her, don't you?"

"What makes you say that?" said Oz evasively.

"Come _on_, man. Alex and I are masters at the kind of love that goes deep, but not so anyone else would notice right away. So I can pretty much recognize it when I see it. Besides, why else would killing a vampire get you this worked up?"

Oz's jaws tightened. "He was going to kill Willow," he said quietly.

"And you _ended _him. No questions asked, instinct alone, _destroyed_ him," said Cole.

Oz looked up at him, his expression unreadable. For someone who hadn't been there, it was a remarkably accurate description. There was silence for about ten seconds, before Oz finally voiced what had been at the forefront of his thoughts since he killed that vampire. "I was a monster. It didn't take me over, that was _me,_" he said, and the horror was audible in his voice.

Cole looked shrewdly at his roommate for a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. "Remember back when we took out those first four vamps in May? You, me, and Alex?" he began. "When I saw that last one leaning in to bite her, there was only one thing I knew. He was going to be dust for even _daring_ to touch her. The only fight I'd ever been in before that was in third grade, and in general, I'm a pretty mellow guy, but in that moment, there was no question in my mind that I was going to kill that filthy piece of hell-spawn." He spat the last phrase, and it was a few seconds before he was calm enough to continue. "The only difference between what you did and what I did is that you _looked_ like a beast. But that kind of reaction against something that you know is about to kill the person you care about most doesn't make you a monster. It makes you human."

There was yet another silence as Oz considered Cole's words. "Let's go to class," he said finally.

Cole grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, and they both headed out.

* * *

Let's see here. If you go back and count, I mentioned the deaths of exactly sixteen vamps in that nest. Of seventeen. Leaving that one last vamp for later. Mad counting skills. The big spider. Invented to facilitate the Aragog vs. Shelob argument. My favorite line in this episode was when Kat named her sword Sting. If you haven't read _The Hobbit_, stop reading fanfiction this instant and read that book. Kennedy vs. Alex. Someone had to call Kennedy out for her unfairness to Oz, and it wasn't going to be Willow, and certainly wasn't going to be Oz himself, so we have Alex for that. You will find that I did not leave Kennedy completely devoid of merit, as she was the one to carry Alex back from the tunnel. The way I see it, when Slayers have a beef, helping each other out in a fight works much better as reconciliation than any verbal apology could. Sparseness of Giles and Xander. They don't patrol, so that happens. It makes me sad. Complete absence of Dawn for the past couple of episodes. Well, I mentioned her name, didn't I? The phone conversations were getting a little repetitive, and all they are is Buffy summing up the episode, so let's not, for a change. She will reappear, though. I apologize to those of you who hate her, but she will reappear. And, my favorite of all, Oz's inner turmoil. You thought I was making the werewolf thing easy for him, didn't you? Well, as you know, nothing is ever easy on the show, so how could I expect to write a fake continuation of the show if I made things too easy? It just wouldn't work. Cole's speech to him at the end. Love.


	9. 8x09: From Distant Fronts

Episode 9: From Distant Fronts

†

Saturday, October 25, 2003

Xander sat between Willow and Giles, staring blankly into space as the ceremony proceeded. In his head, he was fantasizing an alternate ending to his own wedding. One in which he had actually gone through with it. He and Anya were married, and had gone on their honeymoon in some beautiful, quiet place thousands of miles from demons and Hellmouths. He had fought with her in the final stand in Sunnydale. Anything that came near her met swift defeat at his hands. He and Anya were still together, and happy.

A single tear trickled out of his eye when reality came crashing back down on him. He felt Willow's warm, comforting hand over his, and gave her a watery smile. Giles, who had observed this from Xander's other side, felt another pang of sympathy for his young friend. He had in many ways returned to his usual humorous self, but occasions like this one, where his grief floated to the surface, were not few.

Willow too found it difficult to pay attention to the ceremony. After all, the only real interaction she had ever had with either Lorin or Sam, apart from occasional snatches of light conversation, had been when she lifted and re-cast Lorin's cloaking spell. She suspected that she had only been invited because Lorin, being from another dimension, didn't have many friends from this one. Consequently, even his acquaintances had been invited in an attempt to balance out the number of guests he had invited versus the ones invited by Sam.

Willow's eyes wandered to the right of the happy couple at the altar to where the best man stood. Oz, in his crisp tuxedo, reminded her of their senior prom, and before she knew what she was doing, she was fondly reliving those memories. It had been a wonderful night.

Then she thought of Kennedy, and felt a twinge of annoyance. Kennedy had refused to attend the wedding, simply because of Lorin's non-human status. Willow had thought it would be a good opportunity for them to spend time together, since that seemed to be happening less and less even though they spent most of their time in the same building. But Willow wasn't about to force it on Kennedy if it would only result in spending the entire wedding attempting to ignore Kennedy's restlessness and suspicious glares shot at Lorin, not to mention the still more unpleasant ones that would be directed at Oz. Willow wasn't sure why, but ever since the last full moon, Kennedy's dislike of Oz had been reduced to venomous glances. Which, considering that she had previously been going out of her way to not-so-inconspicuously inflict minor injuries on him every chance she got, was a definite improvement.

Next to Willow sat Buffy, who'd had even less interaction with the bride and groom, seeing as the groom was still somewhat frightened of her by virtue of her being a Slayer. She was a little more mentally present than Xander and Willow, but not by much. The wedding had her thinking back to the cookie dough speech again. _"I do, sometimes, think that far ahead."_ She was watching the kind of happy ending she had wanted for herself for a long time. But she had a mission, and that came first. That was what it meant to be a Slayer. The only trouble was, Buffy knew all too well that putting the mission first meant there likely wouldn't be a "next" wherein that happy ending could occur. There certainly hadn't been one for any of her predecessors, anyway. Her thoughts flickered back to those Slayers, and she traveled through their lives for what was at least the thousandth time since she had first been forced to witness them.

But too soon, she had gone through all of them and arrived again at her own calling. And there sat Angel in that junky old car, watching her called. She remembered him telling her he had been there, and that he had loved her even then. A smile unconsciously stretched her lips. She had been skeptical when he told her, because it wasn't exactly as if she'd been head over heels the first time she saw him, but now that she'd seen it with her own eyes, she knew he had meant it. Up until then, she hadn't really understood how extreme a difference she had made in his existence. Less than a year after that one-sided encounter, he had gone from the grungy-to-the-point-of-looking-diseased guy in that car to the sinfully attractive, dark, mysterious guy she had knocked down in that alley.

Before Xander, Willow, or Buffy really realized it, the wedding was over. Next came the reception, which, thankfully, was entertaining for more than just Lorin, Sam, and Sam's parents. Illogical Stop Sign got a break from playing, as Lorin had paid another band to provide the background music instead. For the first hour, all of the guests took turns congratulating the newlyweds and filtering down the buffet table. Oz stood dutifully next to Lorin, while Cole was among the groomsmen and Alex with the bridesmaids.

"Sam's taste is a little better than Anya's was," Willow observed to Buffy as they moved through the line, indicating Alex and the other bridesmaids in their matching dresses. In reality, the dresses had not been Sam's first choice. However, she had known full well that if she wanted Alex to cooperate, which she did, the dresses had to involve either green or black in some way, no pink of any kind, and absolutely no lace or ruffles. The result was that they all wore fairly basic sleek, pastel green spaghetti strap dresses that fell to their ankles.

At last, stiff from standing and smiling at people for so long, Lorin, Sam, and their entourage were all released and the reception transformed into something resembling a formal ball. Cole and Alex gratefully left the greeting line for the dance floor. Willow and Buffy took turns dancing with Xander and Giles, though the latter was merely humoring them, and had quite a good time.

†

"You know," said Alex dryly, "hanging around the buffet table only works as an excuse not to dance for the first hour and a half."

"It's good food," said Oz.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Of which you have had more than enough by now, I'm sure," she said impatiently, and before he could protest, she had dragged him onto the dance floor.

Oz rarely thought about his height, but he found that dancing with a girl who was about half a head taller than his humble five feet four inches (though some of that was due to her choice of footwear) was rather intimidating. "Did you and Cole have a fight or something?" he asked, wanting to know why she had removed him from the safety of the buffet table.

"No," she said, "you were just driving me nuts standing there trying not to look like you've been staring at Willow the whole time."

Oz shot her one of the closest things to a withering glare he had ever given anyone.

Alex was unimpressed. "If you don't ask her to dance at least once, I'm going to hurt you," she said.

"She's seeing someone," he said automatically.

"Who isn't here," Alex pointed out, one eyebrow raised. While she and Kennedy had, for the most part, gotten over their issues with each other, the fact remained that Alex had spent three and a half years watching Oz live a lonely, dateless existence, and she was sick of it. So, between her lonely friend and her least favorite Slayer at headquarters, she knew who she wanted to get the girl.

But Oz would not be easily swayed. "If anything happens, it'll be her choice," he said. "After the way things ended last time—both times, I've got no right to make the first move." It was what he'd been telling himself for months. It was all that was preventing him from doing anything more than stare—and, of course, use his teeth to violently behead anything posing a threat to her life...

"Whatever. Still won't stop me from hurting you," said Alex.

Oz didn't protest. It wouldn't do any good, and in any case, he probably deserved it. The song ended, and Alex released him and jerked her head significantly in Willow's direction before heading off to find Cole again.

Oz's eyes found Willow as though they were magnetically drawn to her. Her face was alight with laughter as she, Buffy, and Xander began to dance to the next song, which was much more energetic. At its opening notes, Giles had determinedly fled the scene, taking up Oz's former position at the buffet table.

Oz was sure he knew what it would be like if he did ask her to dance. Awkward. So awkward it could probably be used as the dictionary example of the word. Still... He continued to watch her. She looked absolutely beautiful in her royal blue Mandarin style dress, her long red hair pinned up artfully with a pair of chopsticks. He thought back to the first time he'd seen her, wearing that enormous Eskimo costume, and he smiled. Willow looked beautiful in anything.

His vision was obscured then by a brunette wearing a black dress. His smile melted away as he realized that the newcomer was in fact Kennedy, who went straight for the dancing trio. When Willow saw her, her expression turned to surprised delight, and she threw her arms around her. Oz promptly joined Giles at the table, not caring if Alex knocked him senseless for it later.

†

Lorin had never been happier in his life. In less than an hour, he and Sam would be on their way to the airport, where they would fly to Ireland for their honeymoon. Sam had told her parents they were going to visit Lorin's family while they were there, since they hadn't been able to make the transatlantic journey to the wedding. He might sound Irish, but, having grown up in Azerkeld, the accent was just an odd coincidence. He had never actually been to Ireland, and he was curious. With any luck, he'd be able to solidify his fake story of being from Dublin after actually experiencing the place.

As Sam reassured her parents that all of their trip plans were finalized and, yes, the plane tickets had been purchased, Lorin stepped out of the otherwise empty ballroom and into the chilly October air, his breath misting in front of him. He amused himself for a moment by holding his breath and then releasing it all at once so that the cloud of mist was thicker.

"Hello, big brother," came a voice from his right.

Lorin jumped so hard that he nearly toppled over, then turned to face the speaker. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw who it was. "Embry!" he said. Before him stood a nineteen-year-old girl with chin-length silver hair, eyes with completely black irises, and, most noticeably, enormous bat-like black wings, just like the ones he was currently concealing by magic. She wore sleek, fitted gray pants and a black top which fastened around the neck and left her back bare all the way to her waist in order to accommodate the wings. An energy cannon was strapped to her right hip, and the red stripe down its side indicated that she was a member of what was essentially a special ops team. She was leaning casually up against the side if the building, but her expression was stern. She was one of the very last people he would have expected to see for the rest of his life, let alone the evening after his wedding.

"D'ye 'ave any idea 'ow long we've been lookin' fer ye?" Embry demanded in an accent identical to his own.

"Four years?" Lorin guessed.

"Aye! Four years! What the 'ell are ye doin' in a completely different world?" She was certainly a lot less pleasant than when he'd last seen her. "An' without wings, too? What is this?"

"I'm _livin'_ my life!" he said, "The way I'd ne'er 'ave been able to back 'ome!" It was the same sibling rivalry they'd always had, with the exception that _this_ argument was actually about something that mattered.

"You _deserted_," she accused, arms folded across her chest.

"Aye, I deserted," he said indifferently, causing Embry to look as if she were about to burst with indignation. She, of course, was the perfect little patriotic zealot. "I've no interest in fightin' that war. I didn't start it, so I'm not gonna die to 'elp end it. It's all right fer the ones who _want_ to fight, but that's not me and it ne'er will be."

"Fine. Well, ye've got a couple of options, 'ere. See, if ye come back and fight in the war like a good boy, there's every chance ye'll survive, and ye can come back to this," she waved her arm around at the surroundings in a contemptuous sort of way, "place."

"Right, that's one option, what's the other?" asked Lorin, raising his eyebrows.

"Either way, ye're comin' back. So, ye can stop this foolishness an' come back with me now, or I'll report back and they'll send the Sentinels instead."

At this, Lorin paled.

"And then ye won't even get a court martial," she went on coldly. "They'll skip straight to the part where ye get executed fer desertin'." From a pouch on her belt, Embry withdrew a glowing purple orb that appeared to be entirely devoid of solid components. "What'll it be, then?"

†

Sam, her parents having at last departed, looked around to see where Lorin had gone. She headed for the door to the balcony a little slower than she usually would have; her ankles were rather sore from the heels she'd been in all day. Before she had quite reached it, the clouded glass glowed with an odd purple light. Forgetting the discomfort in her feet, she held up her skirt and sprinted the rest of the way to the door, even as the light grew stronger. "Lorin!" she cried as she wrenched the door open. But the only thing on the balcony was a ring of the same purple light, on the other side of which there seemed to be a corridor. She hesitantly approached the ring of light, but it didn't wait for her to get past her wariness. Within seconds, it had contracted until it vanished entirely.

†

Two hours after the reception ended, everyone had returned to headquarters, changed out of their formal attire, and all of the squads except Buffy's and Kennedy's had left to patrol. Their heads angled sideways in puzzlement, Buffy and Xander stood a safe distance away from Willow, who was attempting to rig her recently acquired laptop to the enormous TV. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't notice them until she had finished hooking up the various wires.

"We got a video message from Andrew while we were gone," she explained. "So, I thought, big screen, and that way everyone can see it without having to mob my laptop."

"Efficient," said Cole, who had just come up from watching Alex and Kennedy sparring with each other and the rest of the off-duty Slayers. "Should I go back down and get them for the premier showing?"

"That'd be great, thanks," said Willow distractedly. She turned the TV on, and frowned when the screen lit up completely blue. She fiddled with the remote for a minute. The screen remained resolutely blue, and she glared at it in frustration.

"Blue screen of doom, huh?" asked Oz as he emerged from the kitchen bearing a slice of reheated pizza on a plate. Willow nodded, still glaring at the obstinate TV. Oz left the pizza on the table and walked over to the enormous thing. "May I?" he asked, pointing at it. The two of them had been rather formal with each other since he had saved her life. In Oz's opinion, it was at least a step up from the nearly debilitating awkwardness they had been laboring under up until then.

"Go ahead," said Willow, before going back to her post watching the tiny white lights move around the map of the city.

"There we go," said Oz about a minute later, and an enlarged image of Willow's laptop screen replaced the glaring blue on the TV. Willow smiled gratefully at him. Apart from computer hacking, her most recent experience with electronic hardware had involved reprogramming the Buffybot. While she had performed admirably there, intricate reengineering robotics had left her with a tendency to overthink technical difficulties, with the result that she had failed to spot the source of the problem: a simple misplaced wire, which redirected the video feed to the sound input instead.

"Nice going," said Xander, before a mildly alarmed silence fell as they all looked at the screen. Displayed there, slightly pixelated, was a six-foot headshot of an incredibly tan Andrew in a sombrero, who seemed to be staring back at them with eyes wide and an overly enthusiastic dorky smile plastered across his face.

"And I thought he was overbearing when he was regular sized," said Buffy faintly.

"Maybe big screen was a bad plan," said Willow, who was not alone in being severely creeped out by the image.

"Okay, what'd we mi—_gyah!_" said Cole, who had just returned from downstairs with seven Slayers in tow, and, upon catching sight of the enormous face on the screen, recoiled so violently that he knocked into Laurel. This at least broke the tension, and everyone else burst out laughing.

"Graceful," said Laurel, before shoving Cole impatiently back out of her personal space. Soon, they had all situated themselves in front of the TV, and Willow hit play.

"Hola, Cleveland!" Andrew began, and already his attempt at a Spanish accent was horribly mauled. Kennedy groaned and prepared herself as well as she could for more butchering of the language she spoke fluently. "Now, it's time for the six month update—one month early!" This earned general eye rolling from the audience. "We set off with just these two lovely señoritas," The image of Andrew changed briefly to show Julie and Laura, the two Slayers who had originally accompanied him in May. Their stony expressions and thoroughly half-hearted waves told everyone watching the video that Andrew had forced them into it.

"But," the picture switched back to the unsettling closeup of Andrew (everyone flinched slightly), "after questing diligently across the amber waves of grain and purple mountains majesty, and even as far south as the lovely Yucatan peninsula of Mexico, our numbers have swelled—uh, _swollen_, accordingly." With that, the camera zoomed out (in true Andrew form, the full effect was achieved via the use of a track from the _Two Towers_ score for background music). The jaws of all twelve people watching dropped as they processed what they were seeing. At least eighty Slayers were crammed into that shot, and all evidence hinted at there being even more beyond the limits of Andrew's zoom feature. Over two thirds of the ones they could see had the varied hair and skin colors of Americans, and the rest were clearly Mexican.

One of the Mexican girls nearest to Andrew caught Buffy's attention. It was a moment before she realized why this particular Slayer looked so familiar: she was none other than that little kid Buffy had seen her immediate predecessor give her life to save.

The image cut to one of just Andrew again, though he had pulled back to a less imposing distance, and his expression was now anxious. "But seriously, guys," he said, "being all super traveling Watcher hombre is getting kinda hard now, since my Spanish is, well, spotty at best. And keeping track of this many Slayer apprentices is an endeavor built entirely of insanity. I'm not sure what you've got going on back in Cleveland, but if there's any way you could spare someone—or even a few people to come give me some backup, I would love you forever." The remainder of the video was comprised of clips of the Slayers sparring (this time to _Star __Wars_ background music), and even a couple shots of actual slaying that Andrew had somehow managed to capture on film.

†

"Andrew?" said Dawn. "Seriously?"

"I know," said Buffy, "and did I sound impressed enough? Because, honestly, _wow_."

"How did he find that many so fast?"

"He didn't say on the video. I guess he's just got a knack for it. I mean, he is, like, _way_ obsessed with all things supernatural," said Buffy.

"Very true," Dawn agreed.

"So, what's new with you?"

"Just got my grades for the first quarter," she said, and Buffy heard some ominous undertones in the way it came out.

"And...how did you do?" she asked.

"All A's," said Dawn smugly.

"You loser! Why did you have to go making me think you'd done horribly?" Buffy demanded indignantly.

"It's funnier that way," said Dawn.

"So I guess that place is the school for you, huh?"

"Yeah, well, turns out it's a lot easier to make straight A's when I'm not in constant mortal peril."

"See, my master plan totally worked," said Buffy triumphantly.

At that point, Willow came in, shooting Buffy an urgent look.

Buffy frowned, completely missing Dawn's annoyed comeback. "Hey, I've gotta go, okay, something's up."

"Oh. Okay. Bye?" said Dawn, a little put-off.

"Bye. Love you, Dawn," said Buffy.

"Love you too." They hung up, and Buffy turned back to Willow.

"Sam's here, and she's so freaked out we can't understand what she's saying," she said.

"Sam?" asked Buffy as they left the room and headed for the stairs. "But I thought she left with Lorin for Ireland already."

"Apparently not," said Willow. The two of them hurried down to the second floor, where they found a completely hysterical Sam. Alex and Cole were attempting fruitlessly to comfort her.

"What happened?" Buffy asked. Sam turned a tear-streaked face towards her.

"L-l-lorin," she managed between involuntary heaving gasps, "He v-vanished."

"What do you mean, he vanished?" asked Willow. Xander was staring at Sam in utter horror. Except instead, he was seeing Anya in the moments after he had left her at the altar. Was this how badly he had hurt her? How was it even karmically possible that _she_ had been the one to die in that battle instead of him? How?

"I was at the reception," said Sam, wiping her eyes and forcing herself to get enough of a grip to speak properly. "Lorin and I were the only ones left. He'd gone out to the balcony while I talked to my parents, and after they left, I went to get him, and," she drew a deep, steadying breath, "the balcony was empty. There was just this weird ring of purple light, and what almost looked like a window to another place. It disappeared before I could get a better look, but I think it was a portal, like in sci-fi shows."

"A portal?" said Buffy. "To where?"

"His home dimension, probably," Sam guessed. "After I went home and got out of my dress, I went to his place and looked for anything that might help, and I found," she reached into the bag she had brought and pulled out what looked like a ball of purple light, "this."

"Can I see that?" asked Willow. Sam handed it over, then wrapped her arms tightly around herself in an effort not to go to pieces again.

"Getting any magical vibes off it?" Buffy asked.

"No," said Willow, looking perplexed. "It seems like it's just...energy. Not normal energy, but still..." She looked back at Sam. "Is this the same color as the portal?"

"Yeah," said Sam, taking it back. "I think it's how Lorin got here in the first place. It's just, he's told me stuff about Azerkeld, stuff that doesn't exactly bode well for someone like him, but I don't think I can just go charging over there by myself to get him back."

"What, you think someone came out of there and got him?" asked Xander.

"Of course!" said Sam, as if Xander had asked the most ridiculous question possible. "He wouldn't just leave! Not _today_. Besides, why would that thing still have been at his place if he had just up and hopped worlds on purpose?"

"Never mind," Xander mumbled.

"Didn't he say xenophobia was kind of a big theme on his world?" asked Oz. "Because I think we'd be a little conspicuous."

"You mean you'll help?" asked Sam, brightening.

"Of course we'll help," said Buffy reassuringly. "Lorin's a good guy."

Cole and Alex nodded in agreement.

"And I think I can do something about the conspicuous thing," said Willow.

"What do you mean?" asked Cole.

"Well, I'd just do the opposite of Lorin's cloaking spell on everyone who's going," she said, shrugging. "It was pretty basic. Shouldn't be hard. Just, I hope you're all not overly fond of the shirts you're wearing, because this'll kinda destroy them."

"Wait," said Xander, "are you talking about making us into winged demons? As in," here he added a great deal of emphasis, "having _wings_? I'm coming!"

Sam made a disgruntled noise at this cheerful reaction, but Xander didn't seem to notice.

Willow felt a tug on her arm, and she turned to find Kennedy standing there. "What?" she asked.

"Come here," said Kennedy. Everyone else looked at them.

"This is kind of urgent," Willow pointed out, trying not to sound annoyed. Ignoring this, Kennedy tugged her out of hearing range of the rest of the group.

"What?" asked Willow again, considerably less politely.

Kennedy leveled her a very stern look. "Are you seriously just going to pop over to some dimension you know almost nothing about just to rescue a demon?" she asked.

"Yes," said Willow, folding her arms. "Now, explain, please, exactly what you've got against rescuing Lorin."

"You mean aside from the 'he's a demon' part? Because I thought that pretty much covered it," said Kennedy.

"You've been to The Sound as many times as I have, and not _one _time has he done anything even remotely suspicious. We've been over this before. He's not evil. Or even dangerous," said Willow wearily.

"Whatever," said Kennedy. "But aren't you forgetting that there are still eight squads out there who could need your help at any moment?"

Willow hesitated. That was true. "Demon activity has been light for the past few nights, and I haven't needed to heal anyone since last Monday anyway. I'm the only one who can do this spell." She returned to the group before Kennedy could come up with another inconveniently solid reason why she shouldn't go, leaving Kennedy by herself and considerably ticked off.

"What was that about?" asked Buffy.

"Nothing," said Willow stiffly before looking at Sam again. "Do you know how this thing works?"

"No, not really," she admitted. "I was hoping you guys could find out."

"We could ask Giles to check that reference book," Xander suggested.

"And tell him to fill it up with what? _The Index of Glowy Orb Things_?" asked Buffy. "We don't even know what it's called."

"I have to get him back," said Sam in a small voice. She appeared to have already exhausted her ability to remain calm.

"Hey, it's doing something!" said Willow suddenly, pointing at the energy ball.

"If, by 'something', you mean 'glowing', it was already doing that," said Alex, nonplussed.

"No, something else. It got brighter. You must have tapped it somehow, Sam."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno," said Willow. "What were you thinking about then?"

"Well, Lorin, obviously, and him being stuck in that world he hates so much."

"Maybe that's it," said Buffy. "Do it again, and see if you can make a portal."

Sam looked alarmed at the suggestion that she should be the one to open a portal of any kind. Apart from having just married a demon, her life was typically devoid of the supernatural. "I'll try," she said uncertainly.

"Just think about Lorin," said Alex, "how he's an awesome singer, funny, quirky, kinda insane." Everyone glared at her. "I'll stop helping now."

"I-I think it's working!" said Sam. The ball of light was definitely growing brighter now, and they all shielded their eyes as it became painful to look at. Then it became a ring, which widened steadily until it was about the size of a door.

"Whoa," said Cole.

"We're really going through that, aren't we?" asked Xander.

"Only if you're in this all the way," said Buffy.

Xander nodded.

She turned next to Alex and Cole. "What about you? You guys sure about this?"

"Definitely," said Alex, punching a fist into her other palm. "Besides, if we end up having to bust him out of somewhere, I'm thinking strength in numbers can't hurt."

And so, one by one, all seven of them stepped through the portal. They emerged on the other side in a smooth, spacious tunnel which had been hewn smoothly out of polished black rock and was lit by a strip of neon blue bulbs running precisely down the middle of the ceiling.

"Okay," said Xander slowly once they'd all looked around for a minute, "for a demon dimension, does this place strike anyone else as being—"

"Sterile and high-tech?" suggested Oz.

"Yeah."

"I don't think we should leave that there," said Willow, pointing at the portal. Sam hesitantly stretched out her hands and gripped the shining purple edges, then pushed inward. To her and the others' astonishment, this actually worked. Soon, the portal had closed, and was once again a mere ball of light. Sam stowed it carefully back in her bag.

"Okay," said Willow, "time to put on our disguises. Who wants to go first?"

"I'll do it," said Buffy when nobody else volunteered. Willow approached her and recalled as well as she could Lorin's cloaking spell, then mentally reverse-engineered it. A moment later, she had cast the reconstructed spell on Buffy.

"Whoa. Good one, Wil," said Xander, impressed.

"Why?" asked Buffy nervously, "What happened?"

"You mean you don't notice these?" asked Alex, as she tugged on one of the leathery wings Buffy had just sprouted.

"Hey!" said Buffy, jerking the wing sharply out of Alex's grip. Then her eyes widened, and she turned her head slowly to look over her shoulder at the foreign appendage. She gave both wings an experimental stretch. The tips easily reached the opposite walls of the tunnel, giving her an impressive wingspan of over four yards. As Willow proceeded to cast the spell on herself and everyone else, Buffy felt the place where the wings extended seamlessly out from the bottoms of her shoulder blades.

They all took a few minutes getting used to having wings, before their reason for being there came back to them. "So, how do we find Lorin now?" asked Sam.

"I think not staying in this one spot would be a good place to start," said Cole.

"Okay, then, let's go this way," said Buffy, choosing one half of the tunnel at random and walking down it. They had to walk in two rows, because the wings took up a lot of space.

"Did Lorin tell you anything else that might be helpful?" Willow asked Sam.

"Well," she said, "he didn't usually want to talk about it, but one thing I remember him saying is that the capital city of Kheldor is in a volcano."

"That's intense," said Oz.

"How long have you known that Lorin's a demon?" asked Alex.

"Since a couple of months after we started dating. His cloaking spell kinda wore off just when he came to pick me up to go out."

"And that didn't freak you out?" asked Buffy, remembering her own less-than-calm reaction when she found out Angel wasn't quite human.

"I'll admit, I wasn't expecting that," said Sam. "But, I dunno, he was still the same big, adorable dork, so I dealt with it."

"Oh, so you _have_ always known that he's a dork," said Alex. At last, the relationship made sense to her.

"Guys," said Xander, "I think we're in the capital."

"What makes you say—," Buffy began, but then she saw what Xander had, "—oh."

"Seconded," Oz agreed. The tunnel had rather abruptly given way to a terraced landing halfway up a cone-shaped cavern so large that they couldn't make out the other side. In the center, rising all the way from the floor up to the ceiling a few thousand feet above them, encased in spiraling beams of the same black rock from which the tunnel was made, as well as some kind of clear solid, was a pillar of magma. It filled the cavern with a dull orange light. Buildings of an architectural style they had never seen, but also made of black stone—which they now realized was nothing more than the rock which made up the volcano itself—rose high all over the base of the cavern.

For such a large city, it was strangely quiet, but that was only due to the absence of the roar of vehicles which hammered out the pulse of Earth cities. The empty space above these buildings was dotted here and there with winged demons flying in every direction; in groups, by themselves, young, old, male, female—simply put, it was city life. There were even advertisement screens flashing with bright colors on some of the buildings. The only real difference was that cross-town travel was three-dimensional. Thousands upon thousands of tunnels like the one from which they had just emerged ringed the cavern in tiers, and were lit by the same blue bulbs.

At that point, Xander voiced what they were all thinking. "How the _hell_ are we supposed to find one guy in this place?"

Buffy elbowed him in the ribs, jerking her head in Sam's direction and giving him a sharp look. At Xander's words, Sam's expression had become rather helpless and lost. Willow, on the other hand, was suddenly beaming.

"I take it you've got an idea?" said Oz. She nodded, her smile growing still wider.

†

Lorin sat glumly, his wings drooping, letting the voices of the Magistrate and her two advisors wash over him. How had Embry found him? Why hadn't the search been given up? He'd eluded them for_ four years_. Talk about persistence. And why did she have to find him _today_? And what was Sam going through? This was so backwards! They were supposed to be on a plane to Ireland now, in each other's arms. Maybe she would have been falling asleep on his shoulder. Instead, he had been kidnapped by his own sister and thrown back into his home dimension, where he had been greeted, not by a tearful welcome home party, but by a court martial, Embry standing silently by as the witness.

"Don't ye understand the gravity of the situation?" the Magistrate was demanding. "We're at war with Fyorn and Draazin! The alliance with Teladris is crumblin', an' we need every soldier we can get."

"Already the forces of Draazin are attemptin' to breach the Blackridge Mountains! They'll reach Starpoint within days," said the first advisor.

"'Ow long'd I 'ave to be in the field?" asked Lorin dejectedly. He knew objection would be utterly futile, but there was at least a chance that it would be a short war. A small chance.

"'Owever long ye're needed," said the other advisor. "At this point, we've no way of knowin' 'ow long this war's going to last."

"Ye should be grateful. Ye're still young, an' we're sendin' ye straight into the field, instead o' punishin' ye for desertin' in the first place. That should tell ye just 'ow grave the situation is," said the Magistrate. It did. Generally, deserters were either executed or put directly on the front lines, which was as good as being executed, though arguably more dignified.

Before any of them could patronize Lorin further, there was a loud disturbance at the door in the form of it being violently kicked down. There on the threshold stood Buffy and Alex, whose combined Slayer strength had been too much for even a door made of solid lava rock to withstand. They entered the room and parted to allow Willow, Xander, Oz, Cole, and finally, Sam, to file in after them. Sam knocked a bewildered advisor aside as she ran straight to Lorin and threw herself into his arms.

"We found you," she said, before kissing him passionately in relief. Meanwhile, the four other demons present in the room were not pleased.

"Guards!" shouted the Magistrate.

"Oh, would you be referring to those four nice demons we just incapacitated and stowed down an abandoned tunnel?" asked Buffy cheerfully, pointing a thumb over her shoulder, "because I don't think they can hear you right now."

"Who are ye?" demanded Embry, glaring at Sam in particular. Who was this person and what right did she have to be kissing her brother? And why would she want to?

"Lorin's wife," said Sam in a challenging tone.

"And his friends," added Cole.

"Deserters don't _'ave_ friends," said one of the advisors vehemently, "and we show no records of him ever having married."

"Well, _you_ wouldn't," said Xander. "It wasn't exactly a local ceremony."

"Civilians are not allowed in the judicial chambers! I shall 'ave ye all arrested!" said the now outraged Magistrate.

"Not civilians," said Oz.

"Well, not of here, anyway," Buffy clarified, before shooting a significant glance at Willow, who nodded.

"Dispel!" said the witch loudly. All at once, their magically added wings vanished, leaving seven pointedly non-demonic beings in the room, one of whom had already resumed making out with Lorin.

"What is this abomination?" cried the Magistrate.

"Lorin, what's wrong with ye?" asked a horror-struck Embry. But Lorin wasn't putting up with this anymore, and he had just realized that he was holding the perfect loophole in his arms. At a meaningful look from him, Sam let him go and stood next to him.

"Honorable Magistrate," said Lorin, standing up himself. The irate Magistrate turned to glare at him, as if she thought he was using her title disrespectfully. "I'm afraid I am no longer yours to command. I legally belong to Mrs. Samantha Anderson, the woman standing beside me."

Embry's jaw dropped.

"Is this true?" the Magistrate demanded of Sam. In response, Sam nodded and held up her left hand, from which they could see a thin silver band glinting on her ring finger.

"The laws are very rigid about tamperin' with what belongs to another, are they not?" Lorin continued. "An' she is not required to serve the military in any way, as she's not a native of Azerkeld, let alone our great nation of Kheldor." It was all he could do to maintain a false expression of concern for upholding law, rather than let his face crack into an enormous grin for having backed them into a legal corner.

"If ye think it's that simple, boy, ye're an even bigger fool than ye were when ye deserted!" spat one of the advisors.

"Deserted?" Cole muttered, "I thought he said he'd come to Earth to avoid getting drafted..." Everyone ignored him, the demons not acknowledging his presence in the first place, and the humans too fascinated by the proceedings to pay him much attention at this point.

"Fer the abominable act of binding yerself to a being whose veins do not run with the noble blood of Kheldor, ye are hereby banished!" said the Magistrate. It was clear to everyone present that she considered this to be the worst punishment she could possibly administer under the circumstances Lorin had just forced her into.

"Banished?" cried Lorin, the anguish in his voice so convincing that the Magistrate smirked in triumph, and Xander and Cole looked momentarily confused, until Buffy and Alex jabbed them in their respective ribs to ensure they didn't ruin the act.

"Aye, banished," said an advisor, "and may ye be trampled underhoof by the barbaric legions of Fyorn fer yer treachery!"

"I don't believe it," said Embry, whose expression was hurt and betrayed. "Ye've made yerself lower now even than a Chimera." At _this_, Lorin's show of despair became slightly less forced. His little sister really hated him.

"Embry," said the Magistrate commandingly. Embry went board-straight and gave the Magistrate her full attention. "Ye are to escort _this_," she pointed harshly at Lorin, "an' 'is 'friends' back to wherever they came from, an' be sure to relieve 'im of 'is key. Immediately." Embry nodded jerkily.

"Whichever of ye 'as the key, hand it over now," she said, holding a hand out expectantly. Sam produced the glowing purple orb and passed it to Embry. Within seconds, Embry had activated it, and they could soon see the second floor of headquarters through the portal she created with it. "In. Now," she ordered them. Lorin went through at once, not wanting to give the Magistrate any time to think of a way around his loophole. Buffy and the others followed quickly behind him.

As the purple-rimmed portal closed, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. They had managed to break dimensional barriers, find Lorin, and get back, and it wasn't even two in the morning yet. The lights across the patrol map were all still white (something that Willow had been even quicker to take note of), and the few off-duty Slayers who hadn't taken the opportunity to get a rare full night's sleep sat watching _The Mummy_. Alex and Cole promptly joined them.

"Dude," said Xander. "Flying and cool architecture aside, your world is _insane_."

"Why d'ye think I wanted out?" asked Lorin.

"That city _was_ pretty awesome, though," said Oz.

"Yeah," Willow agreed, "I mean, inside a volcano? How did they _do_ that? And I'll bet they use the magma as the power source."

"As far as I know, they do," said Lorin, "an' I think the city took a couple o' centuries to build." He turned to Sam and smiled. "Now, Mrs. Anderson, I believe we were about to head overseas?"

She beamed at him. "Just one thing first," she said, then went around to each of the others and hugged them tightly. "Thank you."

"Anytime," said Buffy, "Just, try not to lose him again."

"I won't," said Sam, grinning back at Lorin.

"Oh, an' I've got one question before we go," said the demon. "'Ow did ye find me so quickly?"

"Sam's wedding ring," said Willow, "that, and having the four people closest to you made the best combination for magically tracking you down that I could have asked for. Also, having wings helped us get there faster."

"And have I mentioned how awesome that was?" asked Xander.

"Speakin' of wings," said Lorin, unfolding and refolding his own as he looked at Willow.

"Oh, of course," she said, and quickly cast the cloaking spell over him. His wings disappeared again, and his eyes went back from red to dark brown.

"Send us postcards from Ireland," said Oz.

"We will," said Sam. With a final wave, they left, arm in arm.

"Okay, I'm telling Dawn about this _now_," said Buffy, then disappeared up the stairs.

"I think I'll join the movie watching crew," said Xander. Willow turned and saw that the movie watching crew did not include Kennedy. She let out a small sigh and half-heartedly sat between Xander and Erin. Oz, in turn, sat beside Alex and Cole.

* * *

This isn't my favorite of all the episodes I've written, but I am reasonably pleased with it. This being said, there are things I absolutely adored. Andrew, for one. And I thought I hated writing him. How mistaken I was. He is amazing, easy to write, predictable, and hilarious. Willow and Oz moving from awkward to formal. There is progress. Slow, but it's there. Willow having quite the roller-coaster of emotions related to Kennedy. Irritation, then delight, then more irritation, then guilty disappointment. That was fun. Maybe both of them are PMSing. Xander having parallelism with the Lorin/Sam situation. What, after all, is the point of a plot line not directly linked to main characters if it doesn't at least inspire introspection of some kind? The demon capital city. I LOVE that city and would totally live there. The description of it makes me insanely happy. The whole thing is lifted from the same independent project I pulled Lorin, Sam, Alex, and Cole from. I hope I wrote it well enough so that you guys can all picture it as clearly as I can. Skipping from Willow's epiphany grin to the Scoobies plus Alex, Cole, and Sam busting in on the court martial. Well, there is an unwritten law of plot wherein if the brilliant plan is actually spoken onscreen, it will fail. If you skip to the action, however, the plan will succeed (an excellent example of this can be found in "Innocence", with Xander's plan to destroy the Judge). And, behold, Scooby success, because we didn't hear Willow explaining what they were up to until the end.


	10. 8x10: Enter Nyx

As a consequence of the 2011 edit of this fic, I'm going back and adding the "guest stars" (meaning the actors I think would be great to play various OCs, so that you guys know what they look and sound like in my head) when needed. So far, that's only Angel Coulby as Renée.

* * *

Episode 10: Enter Nyx

Guest starring (sort of): Angel Coulby (Gwen from _Merlin_) as Renée Blackwood

and

Rachel Hurd-Wood as Nyx

†

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Cleveland, Ohio

As usual, the non-slaying crew consisted of Giles, Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cole. Giles had taken the reference book with him to the dining table, where he now sipped tea as he pored over the pages. He was becoming slowly more frustrated as the weeks continued to pass with still no hints to be found of the specific location of the Hellmouth, but he kept at it anyway.

"Well, patrol's over," Xander observed, as all the little white lights began to slowly head back down the map towards the black "X" marking the location of headquarters. "I'm just gonna go down and watch a little training until they get back." He got up, stretched, and headed out, ignoring Willow's suspicious glare. After a moment, Cole decided that Xander's plan sounded like more fun than sitting, so he headed for the stairs as well. Oz gazed at the map with unfocused eyes, very conscious of the fact that, apart from Giles—who was so engrossed in the reference book that he hadn't reacted when Xander and Cole departed anyway, he and Willow were the only ones left on the entire second floor.

"Hey, is _Segue_ in CD form yet?" Willow asked unexpectedly. Oz blinked, then looked up at her.

"Almost," he said. "We hit the recording studio a couple of months ago, but it's still in the finalizing stage."

"Do you ever miss playing with the Dingoes?"

"Sometimes. But Devon never really wanted to, you know, try new things with the music. It was a great band, but I don't think I'd go back. Illogical Stop Sign is kinda my family now."

"Yeah. Well you sound amazing," said Willow. Oz gave a small smile at the obvious sincerity in her voice. She still liked his music. That was worth more to him than any other praise the band had received.

"Thanks."

"So, with _Segue_, how many albums will you have? I know you've got _Aforementioned_, too."

"That's it so far."

"And you guys have a new logo, right?" Willow chuckled. "The stop sign with a question mark inside?"

"Yeah. That one was Alex's idea. She was going for the literal. It pretty much sums us up. I can get you a copy of the CD as soon as it comes out, if you want."

"Sure," said Willow. She could do this, right? They were doing the being friends thing. It was nice. She realized with a twinge of guilt that she still hadn't really acknowledged that he had saved her life. Not that he had seemed to be expecting it, but now she thought about it, she felt somehow obligated. "And, well, about last month. When I came to heal Buffy. I just mean, you saved my life. And, thank you."

Oz smirked. "I don't do thanks, remember?"

"You get all red, have to bail. It's not pretty?" said Willow, smiling, "I remember." At the sudden sound of thudding on the stairs, they both jumped and stood up. Seconds later, Slayers began pouring into the room. Giles stood to retrieve the journal, ready to record the night's encounters.

†

Kennedy jerked her curtains closed against the bright midday sun, then kicked the wall in frustration. This both knocked a hole in it and created considerable pain in her big toe. Why did this keep happening? Everything had been wonderful between herself and Willow until they came to Cleveland. And then Mr. Ex-Boyfriend Musician Werewolf came out of nowhere and Willow started acting distant. For the last month in particular, it had only gotten worse, and there was no end in sight. Every time Kennedy even tried to kiss her lately, Willow would pull away and shut her out even more. Kennedy threw herself angrily on her bed. The night before, she had come in with the rest of her triumphant squad and everyone else who'd been on patrol to find Willow standing not two yards from Oz, her cheeks flushed.

Willow hadn't even heard from Oz for over three years before this! He had just abandoned her, after breaking her heart by cheating with another werewolf! So how could she be acting the way she did around him now? How did he have the right to do this? How was this even possible? Oz was a _guy_, for crying out loud! He wasn't even supposed to be an option anymore! As the fresh hole in the wall indicated, the situation was driving Kennedy crazy. With difficulty, she restrained herself from kicking something else.

_"Being all super traveling Watcher hombre is getting kinda hard now, since my Spanish is, well, spotty at best. And keeping track of this many Slayer apprentices is an endeavor built entirely of insanity. I'm not sure what you've got going on back in Cleveland, but if there's any way you could spare someone—or even a few people to come give me some backup, I would love you forever."_

Andrew's words rang through Kennedy's mind. She spoke Spanish. Side-effect of fancy schooling and her family's summer home in Madrid. She would be able to help him. And Willow could probably use her magical tracking ability to find the new Slayers even faster. They could go together. Oz wouldn't be able to steal Willow away from her if they were a whole country south of him.

†

"Willow?" Kennedy had entered the kitchen. Willow's stomach squirmed unpleasantly. Ever since she had recklessly leapt into another dimension, things had been strained—well, more so than they already were—between them.

"Hey," she said, attempting to sound happy to see her girlfriend. "What was that sound a minute ago upstairs? I thought I heard a thud and then some swearing."

"Oh," said Kennedy, going red. "I, um. Might have kicked the wall."

"What's wrong?" asked Willow, concerned.

Kennedy relaxed visibly at her tone. "It's nothing," she said hastily, before carefully approaching her point. "I've been thinking," she began, "about how Faith, Wood, and Andrew are out finding the other Slayers."

"Yeah," said Willow, "it's an important mission. I mean, _I _wouldn't want to be suddenly super strong but not know what was going on." She took a bite out of her sandwich.

"It's definitely important," Kennedy agreed, glad Willow was already sympathizing. "But ever since we got that video from Andrew, I've kinda been thinking about it, and, well, I think we should go too." She said the last bit very quickly, giving Willow a determined look. Upon processing what Kennedy had said, Willow felt nothing but shock.

"Go?" she repeated blankly. Kennedy was frustrated by Willow's confusion, but tried to laugh it off.

"Yeah, I mean, did you see how overwhelmed Andrew looked? He wasn't kidding when he said he needed help," she said.

"That's true, but didn't a few of the other girls already volunteer to go?" Willow asked, frowning.

"I still think _we_ should go, though," said Kennedy. Willow took another bite from her sandwich to avoid responding immediately. She didn't like where this was leading. She knew she wasn't going anywhere. She couldn't, for one thing. She was needed here. But she was sure Kennedy was referring instead to the fact that she didn't _want _to leave. Which was a little unsettling in itself. She swallowed.

"I can't," she said. Kennedy's face hardened.

"Why not? What's keeping you here?" she challenged. There it was. But Willow_ was_ needed in Cleveland. As the only witch of the group, she could do many things the others simply couldn't, and trump cards like that were crucial when it came to dealing with Hellmouths. No matter how much it took out of her, or how much she sometimes felt overwhelmed by her duty, this _was_ her responsibility.

"Weren't you the one who patronized me for skipping _one_ watch to rescue Lorin?" she pointed out, "And now you want me to up and leave the country, so that I'll never be here to heal any wounded Slayers at all?" She wasn't quite sure which one of them was the hypocrite in the situation, but felt sure that Kennedy had rung up a lot of points for herself on that subject.

"You and I both know that's not the only reason," said Kennedy, folding her arms. Willow had absolutely no idea how to respond to that both honestly and without hurting her. Kennedy stood there for a full minute, drawing out a silence more awkward than anything Willow had ever experienced. Then, she abruptly turned her back and stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Willow could hear her banging against things all the way to her room. She remained motionless in her chair, sandwich forgotten. She still hadn't moved when, five minutes later, Kennedy reappeared on the stairs, carrying a bulging duffel bag. She went right on down without so much as glancing at Willow, who stared at the spot where she had disappeared from view. Had that really just happened?

†

Later that day, after participating in an exceptionally intense sparring tournament, Buffy came upstairs to crash for a few hours in her room before it was time to patrol, and found Willow sitting on the edge of her bed. The swollen redness of her eyelids, even though her face was now dry, told Buffy that she had been crying. "What's up?" she asked.

"Uh," said Willow, somewhat listlessly, "Kennedy. She left."

"What?" said Buffy, surprised. "As in, _left_, not-coming-back, left?"

"Yeah." Willow's throat was tight.

"Are you okay?" said Buffy in concern. Willow looked down at her hands folded in her lap, thinking.

"Well," she began slowly, finding it difficult to translate the complicated emotions she'd been dealing with since they left Sunnydale into words. But then, without warning, they all came pouring out. "Things were rocky with Kennedy ever since Sunnydale was destroyed. Before then, with the First killing off all those girls, and me dealing with what I'd done...Kennedy was someone who didn't care. She still wanted me. And so I let her in. I didn't really realize what I was doing until we were looking down into that crater. Then I knew we'd gone too fast, and I started shutting her out. I never explained why, I just...gradually stopped letting her in. And I guess today, she gave up trying to break down the door." she shook her head and looked unhappily at Buffy. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

"You're _not_ a horrible person, Wil. You're being honest with yourself," said Buffy. "You're the kind of person who gets so wrapped up in trying to keep everyone else happy, sometimes you get left out. I think it's your turn, for a change."

"I didn't want to hurt her, it just wasn't working," Willow continued, in an almost pleading tone. "There was no music!"

"Music?" asked Buffy, confused.

"Yeah," said Willow, once again struggling to verbalize pure emotion. "When I was with Oz, he would play my song and then it was just the two of us, and that song contained everything that was him and told me in the chords how much he loved me. Tara...she had the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. Tara, her voice, her spirit—she lit up my world." She shut her eyes tight, and fresh tears squeezed out of the corners. Buffy took one of her hands in hers. Willow clasped it tightly back. She swallowed hard, and went on. "But with Kennedy, there was nothing. I think at first I needed that quiet, but then it started to take away everything that meant something."

"Wow," said Buffy.

"What?"

"Well," she hesitated, not sure what kind of reaction this would get. "I guess I just thought it was because of Oz."

"I think that's what Kennedy thought too," said Willow. She let out a sigh. "And that _was_ part of it," she admitted. She paused, then looked up. "I need to show you something."

†

Palo Alto, California

"Now, students, if you could follow me right this way, we'll take a look inside the Green Library next."

"I read that there are somewhere around three million books here," said Isabelle as if that piece of information were a hugely important secret.

"This is the largest library on campus, and it contains nearly three million books," the tour guide continued.

Dawn rolled her eyes.

"You are such a dork," said Matthew. He and Isabelle promptly engaged in a poke war, which continued until the tour guide noticed and leveled them a threatening glare.

"I think you're both dorks," said Dawn.

"Wow!" gasped Isabelle, not even hearing the insult, for they had just entered a library of magnificent proportions. All three of them fell silent in awe, along with the rest of their classmates, and actually listened to the tour guide as he led them through the first few sections. But not even a library this vast could hold the attention of a class of seventeen-year-olds for long. Soon, to the tour guide's dismay, whispered conversation had broken out across the group once again.

"Hey, Dawn," breathed Matthew.

She looked at him and saw that his face had cracked into a mischievous grin. "What?" she asked a little warily.

"I dare you to skip out on the rest of the library tour."

"You dare me? What, are you five?" said Dawn, even as Isabelle's eyes widened predictably in alarm.

"So, does that mean you won't do it?" he asked tauntingly.

"No," said Dawn. "Because even a dare isn't as lame as this tour."

"But what if you get caught?" hissed Isabelle, seizing Dawn by the wrist. "You'll be in so much trouble!"

"Which is why it's fun," said Matthew, winking at Dawn and distracting Isabelle by taking her other hand in his.

"Relax, Iz, I am the master of sneaky." This was something of an understatement, considering Dawn's history as a chronic kleptomaniac, even if her thieving days were well behind her. She watched the tour guide carefully until he finished yet another long-winded rant about some historical aspect of the university and turned to lead the group on. Then, as Matthew and Isabelle pretended not to notice, she slipped silently down a narrow aisle between two towering bookshelves.

The sounds of her classmates' footsteps and the guide's voice faded into the background and Dawn walked slowly down the aisle, smirking. It had almost been too easy. The hard part, she knew, would be rejoining the group unnoticed, but she could worry about that later.

Dawn reflected dully that sneaking out of a tour group on a field trip to Stanford University was one of the most exciting things she'd done since her home of six and a half years was reduced to a large dent in the southern California landscape. And that night, just like the most of the last one hundred and eighty-two nights, she would get a call from Buffy, who would relate a thrilling tale of adventure before asking about Dawn's day.

At least once a week, Dawn would drop a hint about how much she would rather be in Cleveland with her sister, but these were always either ignored or shot down in some way by Buffy. It was around this place on her train of thought when Dawn realized that her feet had continued to carry her through the library until nothing around her looked familiar anymore. She let out an audible groan and banged her head against a bookshelf.

"Starting to freak out about finals, huh?" came a voice from a few feet away.

Dawn looked up and saw a tall boy with brown hair giving her a sympathetic look. _Wow, he's cute_, she thought. His blue eyes sparkled slightly with amusement, and it was a moment before Dawn remembered that he was still waiting for a response. She blushed. "Oh, heh, um, no. I don't actually go here," she said, deeply thankful that it had come out coherently. "I'm just on a field trip. I go to PALY." She gave the boy a slightly strained smile.

"Ah," he said, before smirking. "Let me guess. Friend dared you to give everyone the slip, and you ended up lost?"

"Pretty much," said Dawn sheepishly. "Did you really think I was a student here?" Score one for the Dawnmeister! Cute College Boy thought she looked old enough to be in college!

"You don't really have that wide-eyed look most high schoolers get when they come in here," he said, shrugging.

"Seen a lot of us come through?" she asked.

"Well, I'm just a freshman, but there have been lots of tour groups for the past couple of months. I'm Connor Reilly, by the way." He offered a hand, which she shook.

"Dawn Summers."

"So," he said. "Did you grow up around here?"

"No. This is my first year in Palo Alto. I lived in L.A. until I was ten, and then I moved to Sunnydale."

"That's the one that fell into a giant sinkhole, right?" asked Connor, looking impressed.

"Yup. Something like that," said Dawn.

"So, after that, you and your family moved here?"

"No. Just me. I was living with my big sister, but after we left Sunnydale, she had to go to Cleveland for college, and I'm staying with a friend so I can finish high school in California." It was, word-for-word, the same scripted cover story she had given Isabelle, Isabelle's parents, Matthew, all of her teachers, and anyone else who had asked. She fidgeted slightly. "I should probably get back to the rest of my group," she admitted with reluctance.

"Hmm," said Connor thoughtfully, "which tour guide did you get?"

"Comb-over Guy," said Dawn, making a face.

"You've got at least another half hour before he's done in this building, then." In a mock serious tone, he added, "In the meantime, would you like me to show you around, Miss Summers?"

"I would be honored," said Dawn, giggling a little.

†

"You still have these?" asked Buffy, amazed. She traced the patterns on the Tibetan cloth with her finger.

"Apparently they made it out of Sunnydale with me in the bag I packed with all the equipment for doing the spell," said Willow. "I don't even remember putting them in the bag. It's not like I knew I'd never see my bedroom again when I packed that thing, so I wasn't trying to save anything." Willow turned PEZ-witch over and over in her hands until the plastic was as warm as her skin.

"Yeah, well, I can relate," said Buffy. When Willow responded with a look of confusion, Buffy got off the bed and retrieved a small trunk from beneath hers, then returned with it. "And I seriously have no clue how a whole trunk of stuff got out of there with me, but I'm not about to look this gift horse in the mouth." She opened it. Within was a small array of items. On top were Mr. Gordo, Mr. Pointy, and two framed pictures: one of Buffy and Dawn with their mother and the other of Buffy, Willow, and Xander. The glass on the former had cracked, but the picture itself was still intact. Buffy got up to put the pictures on her lamp table before coming back to sit opposite Willow again. She put Mr. Gordo and Mr. Pointy next to her on the bed. Next, she lifted out a delicate golden parasol that had been carefully duct-taped back together, to reveal the remaining four objects in the chest. One by one, she took them out as well.

"Angel gave you those, didn't he?" asked Willow.

"Yeah," said Buffy with a small smile. She picked up the silver cross necklace. "He gave me this the first time we met, right after I'd knocked him to the ground." She laughed at the memory as she put the necklace on.

"You never told me that was how you met," said Willow, also laughing. "You just mentioned tall, dark, and gorgeous cryptic guy, and I got updates from there." She picked up the leather-bound copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's _Sonnets from the Portuguese_. "It's all dirty," she said, attempting to wipe off some of the dirt marring its cover.

"I kind of dropped it when fleeing for my life," said Buffy. Willow looked up, alarmed. "Remember when Giles got fired?"

"That was so unsettling," said Willow darkly. It was interesting that Giles ended up being the only Watcher to survive when the First decided to take them all out. It probably had a great deal to do with the fact that he went more by his heart than the rules.

"Yeah, well, after I was done being helpless girl, I came back for it. I couldn't get the mud off, though." Buffy flipped open the cover of the book and fingered the elegantly scripted word there.

"'Always,'" Willow read. "That's so romantic," she sighed. "Wow, It's been a long time since we did the girly sharing stories thing, huh?"

"Yeah," said Buffy. "Kinda fun, isn't it?" Willow nodded.

"And that's the jacket he gave you," she prompted. She felt a little better already.

"I haven't worn it in a long time," said Buffy, "I didn't want to ruin it on patrol, so it kinda became a permanent hanger fixture."

"And what's this?" asked Willow, picking up the small silver ring from the bedspread. She traced a finger along the crown, heart, and hands. "A Claddagh ring?"

"Seventeenth birthday present," said Buffy. "I haven't worn that in a long time either." She held out her hand, and Willow dropped the ring into it.

"What happened? I mean, when you first opened the trunk, how did you react?"

Buffy thought back. She had opened it the day after her dream, or whatever it had been, about the Slayers before her. "I cried," she admitted. "I hadn't really thought about the stuff I had in Sunnydale or cared that it was gone, but none of this is just _stuff_. I mean, I have a picture of Mom. I thought everything of her was gone, but now I have that. That's why the glass is broken. I kinda squeezed it really tight, and it cracked. I copied it and sent one to Dawn with her present for her birthday."

She ran her hands over the rest of the things still spread across the bed. "I think these are all kind of like my 'music'. My connections to people and memories."

Willow nodded.

"Mr. Gordo is my childhood, Mr. Pointy is being the Slayer, the pictures are my family and friends, the parasol is the people I didn't even know who thought I made a difference, and everything Angel gave me...well, kind of obvious." She smiled again.

Willow looked back down at PEZ-witch and the Tibetan cloth next to her, marveling at how similar things were for the two of them. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Buffy honestly. "The plan was kinda to get rid of this Hellmouth and figure everything else out later."

"Yeah," said Willow.

†

Dawn slipped back amongst the group just as they were about to leave the library. Isabelle looked intensely relieved that she was back.

"So, what have you been up to?" asked Matthew. With a grin of triumph, Dawn held up an index card. Isabelle seized it.

"'Connor Reilly, 555-8372'... This is a college guy's number! Dawn! You got a college guy's number!" she said, almost forgetting to keep her voice down. "You didn't give him my home number, did you?" she added, horrified.

"No," said Dawn hastily. "My cell." She had not wanted to incur the wrath of Mrs. Quinn by risking Connor calling that number, for Isabelle's mother firmly believed that, as far as her youngest daughter and her friends were concerned, college boys were the devil incarnate.

"The motto of Stanford," came the rather indignant voice of the tour guide, and they turned to give him a few seconds of their attention, "is 'Die Luft der Freiheit Weht', or in English, 'the wind of freedom blows.'"

"Riveting," muttered Matthew.

†

There was a knock at the door, and Buffy got up to answer it. Willow hastily shoved her things back under her pillow.

"Hey," said Xander. "Another new arrival. Faith and Wood sent her."

"Okay," said Buffy, "Wanna come, Wil?" Willow got off the bed and followed them both out.

"Where's she from?" asked Buffy.

"Scotland!" said Xander enthusiastically, attempting and failing the accent. "The land of kilts and haggus!"

"Nifty," said Willow. Xander led them the rest of the way down to the basement, where Alex, who had finished with her classes for the day, was sparring with the new girl. A short distance away, Giles was observing, pleased with how well the girl had been trained already. She was about Buffy's height, had dark skin and curly dark brown hair and, like Alex, was one of the few new Slayers who was nearly out of her teens. Upon catching sight of Buffy, Xander, and Willow, she and Alex halted, mid-fight, just as she deflected a roundhouse kick from Alex. Buffy smiled approvingly at her.

"Buffy Summers," she said respectfully, "I'm Renée Blackwood." Her r's rolled out rich and thick with her accent. She and Buffy shook hands.

"Xander said Faith sent you?" asked Willow.

"I wanted to come, but essentially, yes," Renée corrected with a smile.

"So, what's going on with Faith?" asked Buffy.

"She and Wood have been all through the British Isles, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany," Renée rattled off. "They've got just over a hundred Slayers in tow now."

"So it wasn't just an Andrew fluke," Xander observed.

"He's the one searching on this continent, right?" asked Renée. They nodded. "Well, Faith and Wood split up to cover more ground. We all met back up in Munich last month to get more organized. I was the first one Faith found, so she reckoned that by now I had enough experience to come to the Hellmouth. Everyone else is breaking off in groups of ten and going to different countries. Wood estimated they'd have covered all of Europe within six more months, and then they'll meet back in Munich to set up the searches of Africa and Asia."

"Did they give you any way of contacting them?" asked Giles. "It would be excellent if we could check in with them periodically to get updates."

"Certainly," said Renée, digging in her pocket and procuring a slip of paper, which she passed to Giles.

"Thank you."

"Looks like we really put the search in good hands," said Willow. Buffy nodded fervently. Now that she knew how well both Andrew and Faith were doing, she felt as if yet another part of the weight on her shoulders was lifted.

"Right, so, Alex and Mr. Giles here were telling me about how you lot do patrolling?" Renée prompted tentatively.

"Oh," said Buffy, "yeah, so they told you all about the squads and rotating routes and stuff?"

Renée nodded.

"Okay, well, actually, you can join right up with Alex's squad."

"That sounds good," said Renée, smiling at Alex.

"Hey, wait, what do you mean _my_ squad?" asked Alex, returning Renée's smile but looking confused.

"Kennedy left to help Andrew, so you're squad leader now," Buffy explained.

"What?" said Xander and Alex in unison, while Giles looked surprised and Renée, perplexed.

"She left around noon today," said Willow evenly.

"Being squad leader won't be a problem for you, will it?" Buffy asked Alex before Xander could get out the question he had just opened his mouth to ask.

"Me?" asked Alex, alarmed at the prospect of leadership. "It might take some getting used to, but I think it'll be okay."

"Good," said Buffy. Then she smirked at Renée. "Mind if I take over for Alex now and see what Faith taught you?"

Renée chuckled but seemed slightly embarrassed. "Faith said you'd ask me that."

†

Hours later, Buffy and her squad set off along their designated patrol route, which, tonight, was Lakewood.

"Are you sure you can move in that?" Kat teased. Buffy, being from California, was still not quite accustomed to the far colder Ohio weather, and had bundled up in a thick sweater as well as a heavy coat. Noëlle and Kat were both from places as cold or colder than Cleveland, and were content in sweatshirts. Clare was somewhere in the middle, wearing a sweater and jacket.

"I could still beat you up wearing this," Buffy threatened jokingly, her eyebrows raised.

"That's all I was wondering," said Kat.

"You're still mocking," Buffy pointed out.

"I'm good now."

"La ferme!" said Noëlle suddenly, tugging them both off the sidewalk and out of the glow of the street light.

"You meant 'shut up', right?" whispered Clare, who had recently developed an unexplainable fetish for watching TV in French. In response, Noëlle glared pointedly at her. She grinned sheepishly and looked with her fellows towards the baseball diamond in Kauffman Park.

"I don't like this," said Buffy quietly. It was nearly midnight, but that clearly hadn't been enough to thwart a group of small neighborhood boys in their desire to play baseball. The four Slayers crept as stealthily as possible around the back of the park so they could approach the boys without getting caught in the field's glaring floodlights. They peered at them through the chain link fence behind the home team's dugout.

"They're human," said Clare. Two of the boys had gotten into a tussle at home plate over whether one had been out or safe, and the others were laughing.

"I know," said Buffy, "I've just got a—"

"Bad feeling," finished Kat. They looked around, but couldn't see anything in the shadows. They had run out of Willow's night vision powder on the last patrol, and none of them had remembered to restock. But it suddenly wasn't necessary. Across from them, next to the visitors' dugout, three figures leapt down from the ten foot high fence and into the light, which revealed the demonic features of vampires. The one in the center was a petite woman with hair even redder than Willow's, cropped short and spiked out in every direction. On her left was a man with long black hair that was half pulled back, half partially obscuring his face, and on her right was another man with shoulder length auburn hair. The boys, still arguing about the call in the game, hadn't noticed them.

"_RUN!_" Buffy and Kat shouted at them in unison, as they and their other two companions hurtled up over the fence and jumped down to the other side onto the field. The boys all stopped what they were doing to stare at these four strange girls, but then turned and saw what was coming from the other direction. Several of them screamed, but they all at least had the sense to run. To each Slayer's relief, the vampires did not follow.

"Aw, Nyx, they scared off our dinner," said the black-haired one.

"As Slayers are wont to do," replied the woman. Her face shifted back to human features, and she looked rather beautiful. Her expression was haughty and disdainful as her now blue eyes roved across the group of Slayers.

"How long has it been?" asked the third, licking his lips.

"Twenty years, Livius," replied Nyx, whose eyes had locked with Buffy's.

"So, it's time?" asked the black-haired one hungrily.

"Yes, Erebus, it's time. We won't need to wait so long until the next time anymore," said Nyx.

"World's overrun with them," agreed Livius in disgust.

"What's with these guys?" asked Clare uneasily.

"Yeah, and their stupid names," sneered Kat.

"I don't know," said Buffy. Where had she seen Nyx before? Before she could figure it out, though, she had stepped forward.

"I go on holiday for a year and I get back to find my town swarming with Slayers," she said, sighing in irritation.

"This isn't your town anymore," said Buffy through clenched teeth.

"You're the one from Sunnydale, aren't you?" Nyx replied with narrowed eyes.

Buffy gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Another one who's heard of me. Much more of this, and my head will start to swell."

"That's a pretty toy you've got," said Livius, eying the Scythe covetously.

"Come and get it," Buffy challenged.

"My pleasure," he said. In the time it took Buffy to move toward him one step, he had already closed the rest of the distance. His fist shot through the air straight for her face. Barely in time, she raised an arm and deflected it to the side. To her left, Noëlle had started to fight Nyx, and on her right, Kat and Clare had gone for Erebus.

Buffy had not felt this overwhelmed in a fight since going up against the first of the Turok-Han. Instead of being able to quickly take a strong offensive, she was forced to block blow after blow. Livius was not as strong as that übervamp had been, but he was smarter. His attacks were calculated, precise. The Scythe's song seemed as angry and frustrated as its wielder when it whirled through the air but failed to make contact with the target again and again. Buffy jumped out of range as a powerful kick was aimed at her midriff, and she heard the chain fence clinking as she backed into it.

"Gotcha," he said with a wicked grin.

Noëlle threw a hard punch at Nyx, clocking her squarely on the chin. Her head went backwards and she staggered, before recovering and glaring daggers at Noëlle, but the French Slayer didn't pause in her attack. Nyx fell to the ground at the force of Noëlle's kick, and held up her arms to shield herself as the blows kept coming.

Erebus fought like nothing either Kat or Clare had ever faced. He didn't seem to care how many times they hit him; as soon as one of them came near enough to get a punch or kick in, he would latch onto her and start pummeling with whatever limbs remained unoccupied, until her companion would catch him from the other side, and his focus would shift to the other one instead.

Buffy's face slammed into the fence, making it clink loudly again; Livius had managed to grab her by the hair. He jerked her back to throw her against the fence again, but she was finally close enough to retaliate before he could dodge. Her elbow slammed into his jaw, and she heard the bone crack as he released her hair and crumpled backward. She bent down and seized him by the front of his shirt, then threw him into the pole of the floodlight beside her.

Before she could get the Scythe in for the finishing blow, he had kicked out and knocked her feet out from under her. She crashed to the ground and tasted blood as her teeth cut into her bottom lip, and the Scythe flew out of her grasp. He caught it up and raised it to use against her, but while his arms were still high, Buffy slipped Mr. Pointy from its hiding place up her coat's sleeve down into her hand and plunged it straight through his heart. She caught the Scythe deftly in her other hand as it fell with the vampire's ashes.

While Buffy was still in the middle of her fight, Kat and Clare had taken quite a beating from Erebus, who was still showing no signs of weariness or pain for all the wounds they had inflicted on him. After Kat landed particularly a forceful kick in his ribs, he grabbed her by the leg and threw her, so that she landed a few yards away in a heap on the ground, dazed. When Clare moved in to take over, he pinned her arms to her sides and sank his fangs into her neck, drinking deeply and hungrily. Clare screamed in pain and terror, but Buffy went slamming into Erebus, knocking him away from her before she had used up an entire lungful of air in her scream. Erebus went sprawling. Clare's blood covered the lower half of his face. He growled fiercely at them, but was not stupid enough to take them on again, especially as Kat had gotten back to her feet.

"Okay, you know what, sweetie?" said Nyx, leaping back to her feet. She had spent the better part of the others' fights barely avoiding the worst of Noëlle's attacks. "I'm done pretending you're going to win this fight."

"Who's pretending?" asked Noëlle, driving her stake straight for Nyx's chest, but it didn't get there. She had caught Noëlle's wrist when the stake was a mere millimeter from the fabric of her shirt, and the mask of worry on her face abruptly lifted as her expression became a sadistic grin. She twisted her arm around so that Noëlle was spun until the arm was coiled behind her between herself and Nyx. Noëlle struggled with all her might, but couldn't free herself.

Buffy turned her threatening gaze from the retreating Erebus to where Noëlle had been fighting Nyx in time to see both of them facing her. Her squad member's eyes were wide with terror, staring straight at her in a silent plea. Nyx's eyes gleamed with the same haughty expression she had worn before as she raised her hands to the sides of Noëlle's face and gave a sharp jerk. The snap rang out across the park.

* * *

Let me begin today's post-episode writer's commentary with an evil cackle. Muah-ah-ah-ahh! Now then, stuff from the episode, of which there was a _lot_. Finally, a Willow/Oz conversation that isn't twitchingly awkward or too short to really do anything for us. As to the names of the Illogical Stop Sign albums, I just like those words, and as far as I know, they aren't somebody else's albums in the real world. Kennedy's heated departure. I wrote that scene before anything else I wrote in this whole fanfic. You can imagine my desperate impatience to use it. I am very proud of myself for holding off until this far into the season. Again, I'm going for how the show actually works, rather than pure gratification. Anyway, why did I choose to send her off like this? Simple. Kennedy is a brat. A self-proclaimed brat, I might add. When brats fail to get what they want, they throw tantrums and, in this case, fly out of the country in a whirl of angst. Willow's conversation with Buffy. That was difficult to write, though I love the result. Her need for music in a relationship. That, seriously, is what I never understood about Willow/Kennedy. No music. Buffy's mysterious trunk of every significant object she ever owned. Heh, yeah, the existence of that thing can't be logically explained at all, but it needed to be there. You might (if you have a freakishly acute memory) remember that I mentioned it way back in "Miles to Go", but that hardly makes it more plausible. Also, you might be surprised to read that I actually wanted it there more for the picture containing Joyce than for the stuff Angel gave Buffy. The idea that Buffy and Dawn have no pictures of their mother is just too sad to think about. Dawn meeting Connor. Hahaaaa... Okay, those of you who have _really_ freakishly acute memories will possibly have noticed, from "Origin", that Connor said he was attending Stanford. Those of you who are _also_ ridiculously geographically enlightened, or perhaps simply from that part of California, will also know that Palo Alto is, in fact, where Stanford is located. I did that _very_ deliberately. Renée. Yes, this is the Renée from the comic. Well, sort of, anyway. I somehow misunderstood from when I read those issues of the comic that she was Scottish, when she was actually more likely Native American or something. Oh well. Nyx and her cronies. Well, we haven't seen the last of them. Which I think looks obvious at this point. Finally, goodbye Noëlle, I'm sorry I killed you off horribly. The random lines of French I rarely bothered to translate for the readers were amusing to stick in. Adieu (which, incidentally, literally means "to God").


	11. 8x11: Stronger than You

Episode 11: Stronger than You

Guest Starring (sort of): Rachel Hurd-Wood as Nyx

†

"Ha! I am the wielder of the sniper rifle! Fear my long-range powers of annihilation!" said Xander with a cackle that recalled cartoon supervillains.

"Hey, 'wielder of the sniper rifle'," said Oz. "Any last words?" He fired the rocket launcher and Xander's character went up in smoke.

"When I respawn, I _will_ hunt you down and destroy you," Xander replied bitterly.

"Ahem," said Liz, holding out a hand expectantly. "I'm afraid _that_ vengeance will have to be mine."

Xander resignedly passed her the controller, then stood and surveyed the room. The second they turned on _Halo_, Giles had wordlessly relocated down to the first floor. Sarah and Rona were also playing, their faces screwed up in concentration. Cole, Allison, and Miko were currently waiting for someone's character to get killed so they could play, and the rest of Miko's squad was downstairs, training.

Xander stretched and headed for the kitchen, thinking he'd dig around in the fridge for something to eat. He found Willow there—at least, physically. Her expression was completely blank. Xander couldn't resist; he waved a hand rapidly in her face. She jumped, then looked around and recognized him.

"Oh. Hey, Xander," she said, smiling. "How's the game?"

"Humiliating," he replied. She chuckled, but in a half-hearted sort of way. He narrowed his eye, scrutinizing her closely. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"What?" she said vaguely. "I'm fine."

"Well, yeah, but _where_ are you fine? You're not here," he pointed out.

"I don't know," she said. She let out a long sigh.

"So what's going on?"

Willow considered him for a second, then folded her arms and looked at the floor. "Me. And how I fail at being in relationships," she said finally. "I mean, I've never even been the one to do the breaking up, but it always crumbles, even if I'm happy. Oz left, came back, and got so messed up because of me that he had to come all the way over here to get better. I drove Tara away, then she came back, and then she got shot. And now Kennedy's gone."

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to spot the pattern?" said Xander.

"Yeah," she said glumly, "the pattern of me being a black hole of destruction disguised as a girlfriend."

"Hey," said Xander indignantly, "if you're not going to stand up for yourself, allow me. You are one of the best people I've ever known." Willow turned her large hazel eyes up to his face. "You're kind, understanding, and strong, and you put everyone else first. In just the past year and a half, you've triumphed over your own darkness, and you've changed the world. And, through all of that, you never expected to get anything back. Have I ever mentioned how honored I am to know people like you and Buffy?"

He staggered at first when she threw her arms around him, but soon returned the hug with a contented smile. "Want to go back in?" he asked after a moment.

"Sure," said Willow, hastily wiping her eyes before following him back to the group in front of the TV. She glanced over at the map, but all of the spots of light were still white. She started to turn away again, but saw a flash of color out of the corner of her eye. Her head whipped back around to stare at the map so fast that she cricked her neck. Two of the lights over Kauffman Park were getting darker. Then, all at once, without so much as turning red first, one of the two still white lights simply went out. That had never happened before. Could the spell on the map be wearing out?

"Xander," she called urgently. He tossed his barely regained controller wordlessly into Liz's lap, and came over to stand by Willow. She pointed at the three lights remaining in Kauffman Park.

"Buffy's squad," he said. "Where did the fourth light go?"

"I don't know," said Willow, "Go get Giles and help him figure out if something's up with the spell. I've got to go to them immediately."

"Okay. See you soon," he said. She nodded, before vanishing in the usual blast of white light.

"What's up?" asked Oz.

"Not sure yet," said Xander, who was already running to the stairs to get Giles.

†

Buffy, Clare, and Kat stared in shock and uncomprehending horror. Noëlle's brown eyes were still wide in fear and surprise, but a light seemed to have gone out of them, leaving them empty and unseeing. Her head was held at an odd angle. Nyx released her, and she fell as if in slow motion. Her knees buckled and her body sank down. Her dark hair floated up as the ground rushed towards her, and she finally landed face-down in the red dirt.

"Noëlle!" said Kat desperately, her mind utterly failing to compute what she was seeing. "What the hell are you doing? You have to get up! You have to keep fighting!" Clare understood a little better, but her head was starting to feel light and fuzzy due to her still profusely bleeding neck wound. Kat started to move towards Noëlle, but Clare put a hand on her shoulder and held her back. Kat turned to glare at her, shaking her head desperately.

"You killed her," said Buffy blankly.

"And you killed Livius," replied Nyx, though it was clear that she didn't care. She held up her left hand and idly examined the fingernails. "What, you want revenge? I'd reconsider. It's just a suggestion. Feel free to disregard it, but know this: no matter how strong you think you are, Slayer, I can end your life as easily as I just ended hers. Though I'd rather end _theirs_," she said, nodding at Clare and Kat. "You kill the general, she dies nobly in battle, story's over. You kill her subordinates, she lives on in shame and failure." Her eyes returned to Buffy's, and her tone became matter-of-fact. "You _can't_ beat me."

For once, Buffy had no witty comeback. Her mind was filled entirely with the image of Noëlle lying motionless on the ground.

"Can we kill the other three too?" asked Erebus hopefully. He had circled around so that now he was a few feet behind Nyx, and he looked almost deranged with bloodlust.

Nyx looked a little impatient. "One dead Slayer, and you're not satisfied with our night's work?" she asked. "Surely even _you_, Erebus, won't still be hungry after draining that one."

"Don't you _touch_ her," Kat snarled, trying to shake Clare off, but Buffy put her hand on her other shoulder and helped hold her back.

"Oh, and what have we here?" asked Nyx in a bored voice, as a burst of light brighter than a camera flash momentarily illuminated the baseball field, then faded to reveal Willow.

"One of the lights on the map went out, I came to see what...was...wrong." Willow's voice trailed away when she reached Buffy, Kat, and Clare, where she saw the body lying on the ground and Nyx and Erebus watching the four of them. "Oh God," she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth.

"Come now, Nyx, it'll be a feast," said Erebus. "Four Slayers plus a witch like that one...how can you resist?"

"Get us out of here, Wil," said Buffy quietly.

"But," said Willow, her gaze still frozen on Noëlle, "we can't just leave her."

"We don't have a choice," said Buffy, her eyes darting from Erebus to Nyx, who now seemed to be considering the merits of the former's plan for a feast. Willow nodded, and the four of them mutely clasped hands before vanishing in another blaze of light.

"Don't worry, dear," said Nyx, gazing thoughtfully at the place where they had been. "They aren't going to let this go. You'll have your feast yet. Until then, you'll have to be content with that one." She nudged Noëlle's lifeless form with her toe. "The blonde one, the leader, she'll have the big self-pity moment, and then she'll get her Watcher to dig through his books." Her expression grew prideful. "And then they'll find me, and we'll get a little visit." Erebus grinned in anticipation before bending down and pulling the limp but still warm body up from the ground, and this time met no resistance as he buried his fangs in her neck and drank deeply.

†

On re-entry in headquarters, Willow toppled over as the three passengers she'd brought along pulled her with them when they collapsed. They had been completely unprepared for what felt like being unraveled and then put haphazardly back together in different surroundings, all within the space of an instant. It left them physically weak and discombobulated, but considering what they had just witnessed and, as far as they were concerned, failed to prevent, they couldn't have cared less about the unpleasant side-effects of teleporting. Clare and Kat, still on the floor where they fell, were now sobbing unrestrainedly into each other's shoulders. Buffy and Willow silently helped each other back up, their faces dry but grave.

Oz stood and turned off the TV. He noticed that all three of the rather battered Slayers reeked of vampires.

"What happened?" asked Giles, placing a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "Where's Noëlle?"

"She killed her," said Buffy in a hollow, cracked voice.

"Who?" Giles pressed gently.

"This vampire chick. She had two others with her. They were strong. Giles, it was like facing the übervamps again, but these guys were _cunning_. And they knew how to fight. I barely managed to take one of them out, but the other one nearly killed Clare before I could get him off her, and when I looked up, there was the third one. She looked straight at me and grinned, and then she just snapped Noëlle's neck." She saw it all replayed in her head as she said it, and her voice rose in volume and grew steadily more hysterical until she had finished.

Xander, Oz, Cole, and the five off-duty Slayers in the room all looked on in horror. Giles wrapped his arms around Buffy, and she clung to him, the tears finally streaking down her face. She let him lead her downstairs to where he had the Watcher Diaries neatly lined up on a coffee table.

"Can you tell me anything else about these vampires?" he asked.

"Um, yeah," said Buffy. She shook herself mentally, trying to get back some measure of the confidence she usually had. "They had weird names. The one I dusted; I think he was Liv-something. Livius. And the one who bit Clare was Erebus, and they called the girl Nyx."

"That sounds familiar," said Giles, frowning. He withdrew a handkerchief from his vest pocket and began to clean his glasses.

"And they said—well, Noëlle wasn't the first Slayer they've killed. Nyx said it had been twenty years since the last one. That's probably why I thought she looked familiar. I saw her kill that Slayer, Giles, in the dream I had in September. I must have. Maybe that's what it was for. The big kitty guide told me I had to learn."

"You believe it knew that you would encounter Nyx?" asked Giles as he put his glasses back on.

"Well, it did seem kinda all-knowing in an annoyingly unforthcoming sort of way," said Buffy. "But all of the Slayers I saw are starting to bleed together in my head. I don't think I'll be able to remember it well enough to help us," she went on fretfully.

"Don't worry," said Giles. "If these vampires are as notorious as they proclaim themselves to be, there's bound to be at least a passing reference to them in the Watcher Diaries. I'll start looking immediately."

"Thank you," said Buffy.

†

Willow gingerly approached Kat and Clare, who had retreated to a corner where they sat beside each other, hugging their knees, silent tears still pouring down their faces as they stared into space.

"Clare," said Willow, "you're still bleeding, sweetie."

"I don't care," said the sixteen-year-old numbly.

"You're losing way too much blood," Willow persisted. "Let me heal you."

"Whatever," said Clare. She shrugged off her jacket. A frighteningly large area of the right side of the white sweater she wore was soaked in blood. She pulled the neck to the side so that the wound at the place where her neck sloped out to meet her shoulder was exposed.

Willow flinched at the sight of it, for it almost looked more like a bear had taken a chunk out of her than that a vampire had bitten her. The only reason she was still alive was that he'd missed her carotid artery. A fraction of an inch higher on her neck, and she would have hemorrhaged to death back in Kauffman Park. Willow crouched down to heal her. When she pulled back a minute later, the skin had mended, leaving no visible explanation for the blood still covering her.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"What about you?" Willow asked, turning to Kat. The other Slayer had one or two broken ribs and a sprained left wrist as souvenirs of the fight against Erebus. She shook her head. Willow's brow furrowed and she pursed her lips and gave her a stern but pitying look. She knelt so that her eyes were on a level with Kat's. "It won't help to keep yourself in pain."

"Okay," Kat agreed finally.

†

"How many times do I have to tell you?" said Nyx irritably as she and Erebus walked though the sewer tunnels, "Don't wear that face unless you're hunting or eating."

"Very well," he said. "Better?"

"Much." She cast an appreciative glance at his now rather handsome features, but that was the extent of the attention she gave him, and he scowled. Nyx rarely got off on anything that didn't in some way involve herself inspiring fear, so it hadn't been wholly unexpected, but he was still annoyed by her present indifference. She walked slightly ahead of him. Even here, where there were no victims, her gait was predatorial.

Five minutes later, they arrived at their destination, a ladder leading up to the basement of an old mansion. Nyx jumped up and caught hold of the top rung of the ladder with one hand, then pushed the trapdoor open with the other and swung herself up. Erebus followed, but used the ladder. They walked through a dusty, unused basement, then up a set of rickety stairs to the first floor of the mansion. It was elegant, though in a very old-fashioned sort of way. It clearly hadn't been redecorated in several decades.

A tall, thin, black-haired woman approached them lazily. "How was your hunt?" she asked.

"Got a Slayer," said Erebus, grinning.

"Congratulations," said the woman.

"_I_ got a Slayer, Alecto. Erebus just ate her," Nyx corrected.

"Naturally," said Alecto. "You're always the one who gets to kill the Slayer." It was not said in resentment; she was merely stating fact.

"Where are the others?" asked Erebus.

"Still out. Ambrose was going to bring me someone to eat."

"You know, it's really so much more fun to actually do the hunting yourself," Nyx pointed out.

"Perhaps. But I do love sending him out to get food for me. It's such a bother to leave the manor, especially with so many Slayers in this city now."

"Alecto, your laziness never ceases to amaze me," said Erebus contemptuously.

"And your appetite never ceases to disgust me, brother," she shot back. "Even Ambrose, with his love of destruction, doesn't risk drawing attention to us nearly as much as you do on a nightly basis."

"It's true. You could stand to cut back, you know," Nyx agreed.

Erebus's lip curled, but he held back his retort. Verbally challenging Nyx would result in far more pain than it was worth.

"But where is Livius?" asked Alecto. "He left with you two."

"One of the other Slayers killed him," said Nyx. "Pathetic. I was growing rather sick of him, though."

"And I," said Alecto, frowning vaguely. "He was always jealous of Ambrose, trying to get his way with me, but he never did. It drove him mad, which was always a good laugh." They heard the front door open, then shut again, followed by the sounds of three pairs of shoes, someone being dragged along while struggling desperately, and laughter and muffled whimpering. Nyx, Erebus, and Alecto walked to the hall to greet the newcomers.

Two men and two women came into view. The first man was taller than either Erebus or the man who entered with him, with dark wavy hair and black eyes, making the paleness of his skin stand out even more by contrast. The woman beside him was taller than Nyx but shorter than Alecto, her hair was silky and white-blond, and her eyes a clear, crystal blue. The first man's arm was placed possessively around her, and he might have been her accessory by the way she seemed to wear him. The second man had shaggy, dirty-blond hair and brown eyes. His face was heavily scarred, and he was leering at the second woman, who was cowering in terror and trying to free herself from his grip on her.

"Brought you dinner," he said, throwing this woman at Alecto.

"How thoughtful of you," she said in delight, before leaving the room to enjoy her meal. None of them so much as batted an eye when a scream came from the direction in which she'd gone.

"How'd you do?" asked Nyx.

"Ambrose ran off on his own, as usual," said the blond woman, rolling her eyes.

"If I stick with you, I never get to have any fun," he replied. "I went to a bar. Picked a fight. It went out into the alley, and then I killed the lot of them."

"And you, Arawn?"

"Standard plan. Persephone could give the Greek Sirens a run for their money. Played the role of helpless, lost, lonely young woman."

"Tonight was much more entertaining than usual," said Persephone with a laugh, running a hand across Arawn's chest. "The man I got seemed to have left his girlfriend behind to come after me. She followed a few minutes later, about ready to kill him for it, but she was a little late. Arawn drained her, and then we tracked Ambrose down just as he'd finished his little brawl."

"What about you?" asked Arawn curiously.

"We were all set to make dinner out of a pack of little brats, but four Slayers turned up," said Nyx.

"Excellent!" said Ambrose eagerly, throwing himself down onto a large, high-backed armchair. "Are we finally going to go fight them?"

"No, idiot," said Nyx. "I killed one of them. They'll be coming to us."

"Even better," said Alecto, who had just returned, still licking blood off her fingers. She glided over to Ambrose's chair and settled herself luxuriously into his possessive embrace.

"We'll finally get our city back," said Arawn, a greedy expression in his eyes.

"Of course," said Nyx.

"You should have let me come hunting with you this time," said Ambrose aggressively. "I'd love a throw-down with a Slayer. What happened?"

"The leader dusted Livius."

"Good riddance," muttered Ambrose. He had been about ready to kill Livius himself for daring to make advances on Alecto. He glowered at the thought.

"He wanted the axe she wielded. I must say, it was one of the most beautiful weapons I've come across over the centuries. But she was the _leader_. The general. The one from Sunnydale we've been hearing so much about for the past few years. Livius was a fool to face her by himself, though Erebus held his own magnificently against two of them. He even got a mouthful of one."

"And the one you killed?" asked Persephone.

"I let her think she had me until all of the other fights were over. It's so funny how they always fall for that. I made sure the other three were done before I snapped her neck, because it's no fun if her friends don't get to _watch_, right? You should have seen their faces. She must have been the first one they lost in this city, the way they were looking. I taunted them for a bit. Then their witch appeared and made off with them before we could attack again."

"So, about when do you think we should be expecting company?" asked Arawn.

"Not tonight, but in the very near future."

"I'm not sure I like our odds against forty Slayers," said Persephone.

"Oh, they won't all come," said Nyx dismissively. "She'll only bring a squad of her best fighters. She'll be afraid that the less experienced ones might get killed."

"It's been nice, though," said Arawn, "the Slayers have taken out a lot of our competition. More for us. After we've defeated them, this place'll probably be swarming with filth again before long."

†

Buffy walked slowly back up the stairs, arms wrapped around herself. She found Kat and Clare in the exact same place Willow had left them. "How're you two holding up?" she asked quietly.

"We're going to kill those vamps, right?" asked Kat.

"Yes," said Buffy.

"Then we'll be fine," said Clare.

Buffy stood there, looking at both of them. With perhaps the exception of Willow, Xander, and Giles, they were the ones she had spent the most time with over the past few months. She had fought side-by-side with her squad members on an almost nightly basis. In all that time of relying on each other, sharing their calling, and fighting together as a single unit, a unique and powerful bond had been forged between the four of them. And now one of them was dead. "Follow me," she said. They looked up at her, then at each other, and stood. Buffy led them up the stairs to the top floor, then to the third room on the left. Noëlle's room. Her roommate, Elena, was still on patrol. Buffy opened the door, and she and the other two entered. Clare closed it behind them.

"Those guys were stronger than us," said Clare quietly.

"I know," said Buffy. She looked slowly around the room. One side was decorated with a large Spanish flag, which belonged to Elena. The opposite wall bore the tricolor of France. On top of Noëlle's lamp table was a precarious stack of _Astérix de Gaulois_ comic books. They all seemed to involve the adventures of a tiny man with a blond mustache and a large red-mustached man with the proportions of a beach ball. Buffy thought she remembered having to read one or two for homework back during her French classes in high school. Many were old and worn, while some were fairly new. Noëlle had clearly loved those books.

Beside them, perched dangerously in the remaining space on the lamp table, was a framed photograph of Noëlle's family. As Buffy picked it up, her throat tightened and she felt new tears threatening to spill. There were Noëlle's parents, both with a hand on a younger Noëlle's shoulder, and two younger brothers next to her, all of them beaming permanently out of the picture.

Buffy remembered the conversation she'd had with Noëlle the first day she arrived at headquarters, right before Faith, Wood, and Andrew set off. Nöelle had been trying to keep a brave face as she told Buffy in stilted English about the car accident that took all four of them away from her. It had happened right after Willow's spell, and Noëlle's sudden enhanced strength had been what saved her. It took the whole summer before she would smile easily or talk more about what had happened, and Buffy, Kat, and Clare became her new family. Buffy traced her fingers over the faces in the photograph. At least Nöelle was with them now, right? She set the picture back down gently. She knew then what she had to do.

†

"Willow?"

"Hey, Buffy," she replied. They exchanged rather weak smiles. "Did you need something?"

"Actually, yeah," said Buffy. "Remember that time you got me out of the catatonia by magic after Glory took Dawn?"

"Yeah," said Willow, not sure where she was going with this. "Only you're kind of very much not catatonic now, if you wanted me to do that again."

"I know. Remember back when I had all of those dreams or visions or whatever of the Slayers before me?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, Nyx mentioned that she killed a Slayer twenty years ago. That means I must have seen it happen. I just can't remember any of it as clearly anymore. There could be something important buried in there, but I can't get to it. I need your help."

"Oh," said Willow. "Let's do it, then."

"Anything to set up first?"

"Just a candle. And not being interrupted," said Willow.

"Our room, then," Buffy proposed. She looked over at the somber group still by the TV, thinking they could probably pull it off right in front of them without an interruption anyway.

Less than three minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor in their room, Willow's hands under Buffy's, which were palm-up, and a single candle was burning between them.

"Ready?" asked Willow. Buffy nodded, and they both closed their eyes.

†

When Buffy opened them again, she found herself, once more, in the desert, where the clouds rushed overhead at impossible speeds, before freezing in place. Exactly like before. "It worked," she observed, noticing that, also like last time, she spoke the words without moving her lips.

"What, you thought it wouldn't?" asked Willow from beside her in a falsely offended voice. Her lips weren't moving either.

"I dunno. I wasn't sure a non-Slayer could come here in the first place," said Buffy, shrugging. She looked around expectantly. "Now, there should be a—"

"Tiger!" cried Willow in alarm. The enormous feline had materialized less than a foot from her face while Buffy had her back turned looking for it. Willow took several hasty steps backward.

"You have returned," said the tiger, in its deep, bone-vibrating voice. "And with the one whose magic called the others."

"She brought us here," said Buffy.

"The big kitty knows about me?" asked Willow. For a second, she looked flattered, but then her brow creased with worry and she leaned towards Buffy. "Is that a good thing?"

"Possibly?" said Buffy.

"You seek access once more to your predecessors," the tiger stated.

"Yes. The one Nyx killed in the eighties," said Buffy. She hesitated. "We won't have to go through all of the other ones to get to her this time, will we?"

"No. That journey was necessary only to return you to your body. You are always free to walk the paths of your predecessors. In addition, this woman is as connected now to those Chosen as the Scythe. Though she still cannot enter this place without a Slayer, she too has access to the previous Slayers now."

"Wow, Wil," said Buffy, "I guess big kitty does like you."

"Yeah," said Willow faintly.

"Okay, so, let's do this."

The tiger lowered its great head, and the desert dissolved around them. When their surroundings reformed, Buffy and Willow found themselves standing at an intersection in a fairly normal looking city at dusk. Lots of people bustled on around them—one or two even going right through them, which was a rather disconcerting experience.

"Oh, hey. South Africa," said Willow. Buffy stared at her.

"_How_ do you know that after just two seconds of being here?" she demanded incredulously.

"Well," she said, a little embarrassed, before pointing at the side of a building, where a flag was draped, "that was the flag of South Africa until nineteen ninety-four, and this is a big, modern city with lots of Africans. Plus, those people who just walked through us were speaking Afrikaans. So, we're probably either in Johannesburg or Cape Town, but judging from how the air is kinda salty, I'm gonna go with Cape Town."

"You spent your entire childhood watching the Discovery Channel, didn't you?" said Buffy in a kind of horrified amazement.

"Mom and Dad thought cartoons were counterproductive to mental development. They used Xander as evidence to support the theory. Anyway, let's focus more on finding the current Slayer and less on how my parents controlled my television-watching when I was little."

"There," said Buffy at once, pointing to a black girl in her late teens heading down the street not twenty feet away from them.

"My turn. How did you know that?" asked Willow.

"I've done this before, remember?" Buffy replied. "I just needed my memory jogged. Come on." They followed the girl. She seemed to have a set destination, for her stride was purposeful and slightly rushed as she went up streets, through a couple of markets, around corners, and down back alleys. Finally, she arrived at a house that looked like it would very soon become a safety hazard. Buffy and Willow entered behind her.

What they saw made them and the Slayer they had followed there freeze in their tracks.

"How...did you get in?" said the Slayer through gritted teeth. Nyx was perched casually on the banister of a set of rotten stairs, looking exactly the same as her present day self, except that her red hair fell in curls halfway down her back. Five bodies were strewn across the ground.

"That one," she said, pointing at the smallest body, which had belonged to a boy of no more than eight, "He let me in. Oh, were you protecting them?" Her tone had become falsely apologetic.

"I suppose now I'll have to settle for avenging them," said the Slayer, pulling a stake from the bag she carried and dropping the bag to the floor.

Nyx hopped down with a sigh. "If you insist," she said.

"Getting more déjà vu yet?" asked Willow.

"Little bit," said Buffy as they watched the fight begin. "Mostly the kind where I hate not getting to help. It's like I'm watching a movie with a sad ending. I've seen it before and I know what happens, but I still think deep inside that it has to work out right in the end."

"Makes sense."

The South African Slayer fought with perfect technique. A backhand straight to Nyx's face, parrying blow after blow from the vampire, a spinning kick to her ribs. Neither Nyx nor the Slayer showed signs of tiring, and the fight went on far longer than Noëlle's had. Nyx actually appeared to be getting angry, as if she hadn't expected this much of a challenge.

After the Slayer cut a long gash in Nyx's arm with the point of her stake, she let out a venomous growl. She then feinted to the side to draw the next plunge of the stake. When it came a split-second later, she caught the Slayer's arm and twisted sharply. Buffy and Willow flinched as they heard the bones snap, and the Slayer screamed in pain. Nyx caught the stake as it fell from a now useless hand, and put it through the Slayer's ribs. Her scream faded away and blood began to drip from her mouth. Seconds later, she collapsed on the ground beside the body of the little boy. Nyx's lips twitched up briefly into a smug smile.

"You fought better than the others. None of them managed something like this." She fingered the cut on her arm in mild annoyance before her face smoothed back to its default expression of total arrogance as she stepped over the body and left the house.

"I don't get it," said Willow once she had recovered from the horror at what she'd just witnessed.

"Don't get what?" asked Buffy, still staring at the Slayer's body. For a second, she saw Noëlle instead. She blinked and quickly looked up at Willow.

"She didn't drink. Not from any of them," said Willow, looking around at all of the other bodies in the room. "She just killed them. Why?"

"This was never about the blood for her," said Buffy slowly. "It was about showing that she was the strongest. Proving that not even a Slayer could stop her." She let out a noise of disgust. "Talk about being full of yourself."

"But _how_ is she that strong?" asked Willow, "I mean, she fought at that Slayer's same level until right there at the end, and then it was like the kiddie games were over, and next thing we know the Slayer gets killed with her own stake."

"I don't know," said Buffy in frustration. None of it made sense. The only other vampires she knew of that had intentionally gone up against Slayers and won were Spike and Drusilla. Spike had done it for the rush, the thrill of a battle he had every chance of losing, and had been fortunate enough to come out victorious. Drusilla was pretty much just insane, so there really was no point trying to compare her situation with this one without making it a whole lot more confusing than it already was. As far as Buffy knew, though, at least in the case of Nikki Wood, the vampire's victory had occurred due to a moment of error on the Slayer's part. This African Slayer Nyx had just killed had not made any such error. Had Nyx been like Spike or Drusilla, she would have been dusted.

Buffy and Willow were so deeply in thought as they tried fruitlessly to figure it out that they didn't notice their surroundings change back into the desert.

"Was that all you wished to see?" asked the tiger guide. They jumped and looked around at it.

"I guess," said Buffy.

"Wait," said Willow, frowning. "Nyx said something important. After she killed her."

"That she'd fought better than the others," said Buffy, her eyes widening. She turned back to the tiger urgently. "That wasn't the first Slayer Nyx had killed, was it?" she asked.

"No."

"The second?"

"No."

"Why didn't you mention that before?" asked Willow, who, as she was talking to a gigantic tiger, tried to make it sound as non-accusatory as possible.

"You said only that you wished to observe the demise of the Slayer who was killed by the one called Nyx in the nineteen eighties."

"Well, we're expanding our horizons now," said Buffy. "Show us the others."

"Very well."

†

Xander, Oz, Cole, Clare, and Kat, sick of moping idly, had all come down to help speed up Giles' search of the Watcher Diaries for anything about Nyx and her companions.

"Whoa, hey," said Xander, looking up from the volume he was working on, which contained the writings of Watchers from seventeen sixty to seventeen ninety. "Found something."

"What?" asked Giles.

"Something about this Erebus guy." Clare sat up a little straighter in her chair. "In Wales. A vampire called Erebus went through and drained every member of a family of nine. The Slayer of the time couldn't find him afterwards, and he doesn't get mentioned again, except to say that he had, or maybe still has, a sister named Alecto."

"So there's another one?" asked Kat, unable to keep fear out of her voice. Since watching Noëlle die right in front of her, she'd been alternating between feeling like a helpless, cornered little girl and having a very intense desire for revenge. She wondered if the former was the regular girl she had been six months ago coming back to the surface, while the latter was the Slayer she was now.

"I've got something," said Cole. "Mention of another Slayer this chick killed. Back in 1803."

"So, how many does that make so far?" asked Clare.

"Eleven, and counting," said Xander grimly. "It looks like we've got a serial Slayer-killer on our hands."

Cole got up and added this Slayer to the list they'd been keeping. "Noëlle Chevalier—2003" was at the top, with "Samora Rossouw—1983" just beneath. Cole wrote "Branwen Llew—1803" at the bottom of the growing list. He frowned at the years by all of the other names.

"Hey, I think there's a pattern here," he said.

Giles came and stood next to him, also frowning. "Every twenty years," he said. "Nineteen twenty-three, eighteen sixty-three, and eighteen eighty-three are missing. Check to see if there are any accounts of those years. And go back farther as well."

"Um, guys?" said Oz, who had thus far left conversation entirely to the others, immersed as he was in the volume detailing the events from the late seventeenth century through the early eighteenth century. Everyone turned to look at him. "I think I figured out how she managed to kill that many Slayers."

"How?" asked Giles, removing his glasses and leaning against the table intently.

"She was one."

* * *

So, pretty much, dramatic chord moment. And now, writer's commentary. Xander's pep-talk to Willow. She couldn't get it all from Buffy. The Xan-man needs to do his part to help Willow recover from the Kennedy Blazes Out in Anger situation. Noëlle's collection of _Astérix _comics. Very popular piece of French culture there. Buffy not remembering the dreams very well. It's been two months. They were _dreams_. Do you remember dreams you had that long ago? Even the really awesome ones blur after that much time. Willow's random knowledge of South Africa. The episode needed more comic relief than Oz vs. Xander in _Halo_. Willow's parents are very odd creatures. More Giles involvement than we have seen in a few episodes. Yessss. Back to zero Dawn involvement. Oh well. It will come in time. This is a rather focused arc I've got going, and has no room for the currently mundane existence of Dawn (though Connor is not included among the mundaneness). Nyx having been a Slayer. Here, I shall merely cackle my evil cackle (for which I, unlike Dr. Horrible, did not require a vocal coach) of evilness. About Nyx and co.: I developed each character specifically so there would be one to represent each of the seven deadly sins, which made writing them both disturbing and straight-forward. See if you can match them all up to the correct sins.


	12. 8x12: Our Town Now

Episode 12: Our Town Now

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

and

Rachel Hurd-Wood as Nyx

†

The enormous white tiger prowled the high ridge of a sand dune situated between two tall, eroded outcroppings of reddish stone. It reached one of them and turned to pace back again, but instead stopped short, then bent its front legs and lowered its head in a low bow so that its whiskers brushed the sand. Before it stood a middle-aged woman with long white hair, adorned in a light, flowing white gown.

"Please, my friend, rise," she said with a warm smile, and the tiger rose back to its full, impressive height. Like all other beings on this plane, her speech was not facilitated by any actual movement of her mouth. "This has been quite the year for you, has it not?" The tiger's whiskers twitched, and she could tell that it was smiling. "You've grown, for one. And called upon twice in three months?"

"My year hasn't been the only busy one," the tiger replied. "Killed by the First Evil's right hand man, weren't you?"

The woman sighed. "Indeed I was," she said wearily. "Though I do not regret it."

"No?" asked the tiger, a very slight edge of incredulity coloring its tone.

"No," she said, waving a hand. "My death was quick and did not prevent the Scythe from passing into the hands of a Slayer at long last. What better coda could exist for a life as long and thankless as mine? No, I assure you, I am quite content with my passing."

"Though I imagine you did not come here purely to make light conversation—not that it hasn't been pleasant, of course." Of the few visits the tiger received at its post, hers were among the ones to which it looked forward most.

"Simple curiosity, actually," she admitted, "I know that the last time you were called, it was out of necessity."

"Yes. The Slayer called Morgan Stromberg possessed the body of the one who wields the Scythe and used her to finish what she could not in her own life. While her actions were certainly honorable and just, she was not especially careful with the soul which inhabits the body she borrowed. Her interference caused that Slayer to become disconnected. Body and soul, jarred out of their usual perfect synchronization. I led her back via her heritage as a Slayer."

The woman nodded. "And this time?" she asked.

"She has returned with the aid of Willow Rosenberg, hoping to use what I showed her before to help them stop Nyx." The tiger pronounced the vampire's name with a low growl that rumbled like thunder. It had long despised being confined to this barren plane, unable to do more than watch as, every other decade, a Slayer met her demise at the hands of that abomination. Not to mention the untold legions of innocents slain by her and those she sired over the last two hundred and eighty years.

"You know that soon, even Nyx will be the least of their problems," said the woman gravely.

"I do. But, as you know, I am bound to answer only that which I am asked. If anyone is to warn them, it is not therefore likely that it will be I."

The woman sighed again, and they both cast their faces skyward in time to see the clouds beginning to race.

"They return," said the tiger.

"Indeed," said the woman. "Farewell." She smiled fondly at the majestic creature, who bowed low to her again. When it rose once more, Buffy and Willow stood where she had been, both of them looking rather traumatized by what they had just witnessed.

"Okay," said Willow, clutching her stomach with one hand and Buffy's shoulder with the other, "when we get back to our bodies, I think mine's gonna be sick."

"I know what you mean," said Buffy. She looked around and saw the tiger still standing there. "Okay, my guess is that you can only show us the past Slayers, but I _have_ to know how Nyx was able to kill so many of us."

Willow nodded fervently.

"This much I can show you," said the tiger, "for her origins are also rooted in the Slayer line." Before either Buffy or Willow could do more than exchange an apprehensive glance at these words, their surroundings melted, and they found themselves in a small, dimly lit cottage.

"What was the big kitty talking about?" asked Willow, confused.

"Wil," said Buffy, nudging Willow and pointing at a spot about six feet to her left, her brow furrowed. Willow looked around. Seated on either side of a rough, unfinished table were two people. At the far end, his face illuminated by two dripping candles on the wooden surface in front of him, was a man in his thirties. He already had quite an impressive bald spot, but the hair remaining to him was thick and bushy, making him look rather comical. The young woman who sat opposite him had curly red hair cascading all the way down her back. Buffy and Willow didn't need to see her face to know who she was. They moved around to stand at the end of the table. Their initial suspicion had been correct; the young woman was indeed Nyx. However, there was a healthy flush of color on the face they had so far only seen deathly pale. She was still alive. And, judging by her expression, she was worried. On the table beside the candles was arrayed an assortment of different colored crystals.

"But Mr. Davison, this is hardly the time to examine bits of colored stone. My strength is _gone_. I can't do my duty like this," she said impatiently. Buffy's eyes widened in horror. Within seconds, Willow had realized it too.

"Now, now, Lucia, that's no reason to discontinue your training. As I'm sure you know, fever is sweeping the village. It is likely that you have simply fallen victim to it, which would account for the apparent failing of your usual strength."

"But—," she tried to protest.

"Enough. Someone as resilient as you surely won't succumb to the fever. You'll be back at full slaying capacity within days, I'm sure. You've managed to survive everything the underworld has thrown at you since you were fifteen, child. This won't be your downfall."

"It's the Cruciamentum," said Buffy, momentarily caught up in an awful flashback of herself and Giles having a conversation almost identical to this one, with the very same crystals arranged between them on the table. Willow shot her a questioning glance and she shook herself mentally. "It's this sick test. The Council's idea of the perfect eighteenth birthday present for a Slayer. They fired Giles for not doing it right." As they watched, Mr. Davison and Lucia resumed the "training". Lucia was instructed to search for the flaw at the core of the largest crystal, and, upon succeeding, she became unresponsive. Mr. Davison quickly got up from his chair and walked to a cupboard, from which he carefully withdrew a small cloth-covered bowl. He returned, removed the cloth, and held the bowl under Lucia's nose for the space of about thirty seconds.

"Guess they haven't invented syringes yet," said Buffy, who now felt like she too would be sick upon returning to the physical world.

"Not for medicinal purposes, anyway," said Willow. "That wasn't until the seventeen sixties. The syringe itself was invented in the Middle East in the ninth century."

"Okay, that's it. You are officially banned from watching the Discovery channel. Let's stay away from the History and National Geographic channels as well, just in case. You're starting to sound like Giles," said Buffy, for Willow had revealed similar bits of random knowledge about the various time periods and countries they had seen ever since they started out in South Africa.

"Sorry," said Willow. By then, the Watcher had replaced his little bowl of strength-draining herbs in the cupboard and waved a hand between Lucia and the crystal. She jerked out of her trance and sneezed.

"God bless you," said Mr. Davison.

"Thank you," said Lucia, rubbing her nose.

"As far as weirdness factor goes, I want to rank this up almost with the vamp version of you," Buffy muttered.

"I know," said Willow, "She's _nice_, obedient, trusting, and motivated."

"All of which are probably about to get her killed," said Buffy. "Let's hear it for the good qualities, huh?"

"Come," said Mr. Davison, standing again and heading for the door.

"But, what about the crystals?" asked Lucia.

"I think you've had enough of that kind of training for one evening," he said, smiling.

Her face brightened and she jumped up and followed him. "Where are we going?" she asked eagerly.

"I have grown wary of the large manor on the moor," he said. "I believe it merits inspection."

"But in my present state, how am I to do anything?" she asked.

"Strength isn't the only thing that empowers you, Lucia. This will be a good opportunity for you." They left the cottage and Buffy and Willow followed by simply going through the wall; something that had been incredibly unsettling at first, but which they had by now done enough times to be used to it. Outside, the sun had just begun to set and the small village appeared to be settling down for the night. A short way up the street from the Slayer and her Watcher, there was a young man walking along whose long, dark hair was pulled back neatly in a ponytail. He caught Lucia's eye and smiled as he passed her. Lucia shot a furtive glance at Mr. Davison, saw that he wasn't looking, and smiled back.

"Hey," said Willow, frowning as she looked over her shoulder at the young man's retreating back, "isn't that..."

"Erebus," Buffy finished quietly. "Or, at least, he will be. I guess now we know who sired him."

Mr. Davison led the way down the street. Soon, they reached the outskirts of the village, and headed on through a wild, purplish field towards a rather sinister looking old house. He pulled two stakes from the bag he carried and offered one to Lucia.

"All right, I'll take a look around the back and the cemetery on the grounds; you check inside," he said.

"Are you certain you don't want me to go through the cemetery instead?" she asked, concerned.

"No, this will do quite well," he said. This time his reassuring smile seemed a little stiff, but Lucia didn't notice. As the last sliver of sun slipped below the horizon, she entered the house. Mr. Davison stared at the door as it closed behind her, then withdrew a large iron key from the bag and rotated it in the lock. He then turned slowly and began to walk back to the village.

Buffy and Willow glared at him before they walked through the closed door to follow Lucia. She had already made it through the hall and into the first room. It semed she hadn't heard the lock click behind her. The house was dark and cold. Lucia shivered but continued her search. She made it through the next three rooms without anything happening. She entered the last room off the main hall and moved slowly through it. Buffy and Willow saw it coming before she did. Silently, the vampire crept into the room after her, then closed one large, hand around her neck. She went rigid with fright and tried to use the stake, but he swatted it away easily. He moved his hands so that both of her arms were firmly pinned to her sides. She tried to kick back at him, but this had little effect. He slammed her against a wall and pressed himself against her so she couldn't try it again.

"When the Watchers captured me and threw me in here, I thought I was done for," he whispered close to her ear, causing her to shudder. "I didn't know they'd be throwing a disabled Slayer in with me."

"What are you talking about?" she asked in a small voice, her eyes darting around wildly for some means of defending herself or escaping, but, as she was still squashed against the wall, nothing whatsoever presented itself to her.

"I'm talking about your Watcher arranging our little meeting."

"No," she said, but tears began to pour down her face as she realized he was telling the truth. Losing her strength and now being in the vacant manor with a vampire on Mr. Davison's suggestion was too much of a coincidence. Everything in her hurt with the betrayal.

"Don't worry," said the vampire, "I'll let you thank him for it properly later." With that, he buried his fangs in her neck and drank deeply. She screamed and struggled violently, but couldn't get free. The screams slowly became fainter, even while the panic and terror in her eyes grew still more pronounced as the life was drained from her. Eventually, she couldn't fight at all anymore and went limp.

The vampire forced her around to face him, dragged his fangs along his own wrist, then shoved the bleeding wound at her face. She closed her lips tightly against the blood, trying to turn her head away, tears still leaking from her eyes. With his other hand, the vampire jerked harshly at her hair. She opened her mouth to cry out before she could stop herself, then choked as the blood poured in and swallowed convulsively. He let her go, and she crumpled to the floor. The way her long hair spilled over the wound, it looked as if she were merely sleeping.

"How could Watchers do this?" asked Willow, horrified, her eyes fixed on Lucia's lifeless body.

"I don't know," said Buffy. "Maybe the Council makes them go through some kind of training where they remove human feeling before they let them be Watchers."

"You'd think they'd stop doing the stupid test after something like _this_, though!"

"I think it's safe to say that Giles is gonna put a stop to it if he ends up getting a new Council together."

"Vive la révolution," Willow muttered darkly.

The vampire stood over the Slayer's body like a statue, while Buffy and Willow stayed a little farther back. They waited like that for what felt like hours. At last, Lucia's eyes snapped open.

"Finally," said the vampire, watching as she stood and turned her head so that her neck popped loudly, then looked up at him. "Now I've got you with me, we can break out and go eat the Watcher who sent you here."

Her stare became cold and defiant. "'We'?" she asked.

"Of course, 'we'," he said, "I'm your sire."

"Which makes me—just so we're clear, since I'm rather new to this—_subordinate_ to you?" Her tone was polite, but Buffy and Willow had by now seen enough of Nyx to know that things were about to go very steeply downhill for him.

"Naturally," he said. She nodded, but then, before he could so much as blink, she flipped the stake still lying on the floor up with her toe, caught it easily, and rammed it through his heart. As he crumbled to dust, his expression was one of shock and confusion.

"I answer to no one," she said, "Especially not a vampire who needs the Slayer to be weakened before he can face her." She then took care to tread _on_ his ashes before walking back out of the room and to the door. One-handed, she ripped it from its frame and threw it carelessly behind her. Buffy and Willow flinched as it flew straight through them and crashed heavily against the stairwell a few yards beyond.

†

"She was a Slayer?" asked Xander in horror. The whole group stared at Oz, bewildered.

"Yeah," said Oz. "In the early eighteenth century. Her Watcher's name was Alfred Davison. He was writing entries about his charge, Lucia Everard. I just got up to the part where he writes how everything was in order for Lucia's Cruciamentum. Then the normal, freakishly organized entries kind of end, and he just rambles. Stuff like 'it's my fault', 'I have to stop her', 'she's turned the blacksmith's children as well', 'calling herself Nyx now'. And that's the end of the diary. With, you know, the ominous blank pages between there and the back cover."

"Light and dark," said Giles.

"What now?" asked Cole, who wasn't the only one to find Giles's words completely random.

"The names. Lucia, it means light. Nyx means darkness. Part of Greek mythology, actually. As is Erebus, which, as it happens, also means darkness," he explained.

"Isn't that nice and creepy," said Kat.

"But, fitting," said Oz.

"Hang on, I'm still trying to work past the fact that the new Hell-Queen in town was a _Slayer_. Stop throwing in Greek myth names crap," said Xander.

"Clearly she kept her Slayer strength when she was turned, at which point it was added to the already formidable strength of a vampire," said Giles.

"And she racked up a body count of fourteen Slayers just to show it off," said Clare.

"Let's not let that go up to fifteen," said Buffy. She and Willow had just joined the group, both rather surprised to find they had been gone less than two hours.

"What did you learn?" asked Giles.

"Sounds like the same thing you did," said Buffy. "Slayer-turned-vampire, made almost entirely of ego, has a fun little hobby of killing Slayers."

"Only, we got to see it all first-hand, instead of just reading it. Not sure if I want to do it that way _ever_ again," said Willow. At that point, the doors burst open and the on-duty squads began to flood across the threshold. The chatter and comparisons of battle stories died as they all noticed the grim research party gathered there.

"What happened?" asked Alex, after nobody spoke for about ten seconds.

Kat and Clare looked down at the table.

"We...uh," said Buffy, who had gotten so caught up in unraveling the mystery of Nyx that it was hard to realize that not everyone knew about it yet. "We lost Noëlle."

"What?" asked Elena blankly, while everyone else fell into a shocked silence.

"She was killed," said Buffy after a deep breath, "by a vampire who used to be a Slayer. And tomorrow, _she's_ going to be dust. We can't go up against this at half-strength. Get a solid night's sleep, and we'll figure everything else out in the morning."

Giles nodded. Several of the Slayers in the group looked half-ready to protest, but refrained from doing so. For the first time, they all filed slowly and silently up the stairs, their own adventures from patrol forgotten.

Elena reached her room, feeling that she would much rather have patrolled for the rest of the night than open that door and process the completely terrifying fact that she was now the room's sole occupant. Her hand dropped from the doorknob. Wordlessly, she turned and headed back down to the second floor, where she curled up on one of the couches instead.

†

"Hey, Buffy?"

Buffy looked up to see Liz. "Hey," she said. "What is it?" Much of the morning had been spent either in glum silence or poring again through the Watcher Diaries. This second search had yielded information on Arawn and Persephone, two more especially ruthless vampires who had been sired by Nyx.

"Um," said Liz. She looked down, twisting her hands together agitatedly. There was a rather awkward pause, before she finally blurted out, "I'm going home." She looked back at Buffy.

"Home," Buffy repeated blankly.

"Yeah, I," she said, "It's just, I don't want to end up like—I mean, I don't want my dad to ever hear that something bad happened to me. We already lost Mom, and that would just break him, and he'd be all alone, and I can't do that to him, I _can't—_"

"It's okay," Buffy interrupted, "Nobody _has_ to stay here. I understand."

"Oh. Okay," said Liz, relieved. "And I promise I won't neglect my Slayer duties. I'll just be doing them back home instead. And I do have something that might help when you fight Nyx. It works, and it's easy to use. I'm kinda sad that I never got to do more than test it, but oh well."

"What is it?" asked Buffy curiously.

Liz grinned and beckoned for her to follow.

†

"Okay, guys," said Buffy half an hour later. "I've got a plan. We're bringing the fight to them, we're going to win, and we're doing it before nightfall."

Silence greeted her words, until Xander stood. "Not that I don't admire the gung-ho-ness of this plan, Buff, but if you're taking the fight to them, don't you kinda need to know where they are first?"

"Not a problem," said Buffy, directing a significant glance at Oz.

"I gotcha," he said. "Bloodhound duty."

"Think you can track them?" asked Buffy.

"Won't be a problem."

"Good." She turned her gaze to Cole. "And we might need some stuff from your auto shop. You and Alex go with Oz and swing by there before you come back."

"What kind of stuff?" asked Cole uncertainly.

†

"So, how do you know you've got the trail of the right vamps?" asked Alex. They were at Kauffman Park, where Oz was walking slowly around the baseball diamond, breathing deeply through his nose, his brow furrowed.

"It's the same scent that was all over Buffy and her squad last night," he replied, shrugging.

"Oh," she said. "Ew."

"Hey, shouldn't there be a body here?" asked Cole.

"These aren't amateur vamps we're dealing with," said Oz. "They wouldn't leave the bodies of their victims lying around in a public park."

"Right. Of course," said Cole, feeling a little sick.

"Got 'em," said Oz. He pointed at the visitor's side. "Three came from that way, they fought Buffy's squad, and then the two that were left went that way." He turned to point towards right field.

The trail soon led them down into the sewers, where Oz strode ahead confidently. As a werewolf, he was much better at seeing in the dark than his companions, who could barely make him out six feet in front of them. It didn't take long following Oz around countless bends and forks in the tunnel before Alex and Cole were both incredibly eager to be back above ground.

Oz halted in front of a ladder, wrinkling his nose. He turned quickly and held a finger to his lips before either of them could comment. They nodded, and he led them quietly past a ladder and on down the tunnel until they arrived beneath another manhole. They climbed up to it, Oz hefted the cover out of the way, and the three of them emerged into an alley, which was full of bright midday sunlight. They all squinted against the light and drew their coats more tightly around them as a chill breeze swirled through the alley.

"Okay, so," said Cole, "I take it you struck some serious gold back there?"

"Yeah," said Oz. "The scent about tripled in strength when we hit that ladder."

"You think that means Nyx still hangs out with more than just Erebus?" asked Alex.

"Yeah. I got seven distinct scents back there, plus a whole lot of blood."

"And Buffy dusted one of them already, but that still leaves six," Cole observed.

"Come on," said Oz. "The above-ground entrance is close." Once they were out of the alley and in the street, he again picked up three of the four unfamiliar scents he had encountered at the ladder, with the addition of one perfectly human, utterly terrified scent. His hands clenched into fists as he imagined what must have happened.

Within moments, they arrived before a large, imposing manor. All of the curtains were drawn and the place was eerily silent. Alex wrote the address on her palm with a black marker and they continued up the street and headed back in the direction of Kauffman Park and Oz's van.

"Man. I've been there before," said Cole with a shudder once they'd gone a couple of blocks. "That place is pretty much a haunted house of legend. I'm just glad I chickened out when Michael Wright dared me to break in back in fifth grade." Alex looked alarmed at the thought of what could have happened and quickly took Cole's hand. Having noticed this, a small, affectionate smirk tugged at Oz's mouth.

†

"Okay. We've got the address, and we've got the supplies we need. Here's how this is going to work," said Buffy, adopting the tone she reserved for the serious call-to-arms speeches. The effect was immediate; everyone in the room gave her their complete and undivided attention. "These guys are strong, merciless, skilled fighters, and they've had more experience as those things than all of us combined have even been alive. They're gonna know we're coming, but they won't know how. Brute force? They have it, we have it. But that's not how we're gonna play it. This has to be a finesse job, and I don't want anyone signing on who isn't going to be in it one _hundred_ percent. We've already lost one Slayer to them, but we're _not_ losing anyone else. We're going to make them realize something before they crumble into ashes: this is _our_ town now."

"What are we waiting for?" said Renée, standing up, her face full of determination. "Let's send those buggers back to hell."

"Hear, hear," said Kat, also rising.

"Let's dust 'em for Noëlle," said Clare quietly as she got to her feet. Soon, they were joined by Vi, Rona, Chao-Ahn, Alex, and Elena.

"Good," said Buffy, "All of you, get geared up. Everyone else, training and schoolwork as usual." She then turned to Willow. "Can I count on you to get them out if things start heading south?" she asked seriously.

"Oh, I think I can do better than that," she said, a grin spreading across her face.

†

"Remind me why I sired you people," said Nyx irritably. She had spent the whole day so far watching Ambrose wear a hole in the carpet as he paced restlessly back and forth in front of the empty fireplace, listening to the sounds of Arawn and Persephone ravishing each other in the next room, and enduring Erebus's loudly growling stomach.

"You liked my brother and wanted to drive your Watcher insane with how utterly he had failed by turning the two of us right in front of him," said Alecto. She giggled and added, "Especially since he forbade you from seeing him when you were alive." Arawn and Persephone finally joined them, acting for all the world as if absolutely nothing had been happening in the other room.

"And the rest of us because we mattered to the first couple of Slayers you killed," said Arawn.

"True," said Nyx, now rather pleased with herself as she sank into satisfied reminiscences.

Ambrose continued to pace the length of the room, his hair standing on end from the many times he had run his fingers through it in restless agitation. "Are they _ever_ going to come?" he asked.

"Of course they will," said Nyx. "Now, sit down before I decide to hurt you so badly that you won't be able to pace anymore, let alone join the fight."

He snarled in frustration but knew better than to challenge her further, so instead joined Alecto, who smiled in lazy contentment.

"Ambrose may have a point," said Persephone. "While I've no doubt that the other Slayers are going to want revenge, and as quickly as possible, I'm less certain that they'll be able to find us."

At precisely the same moment that she uttered that last disdainful word, the air was filled with the sound of shattering glass. The heavy curtains that kept the sunlight from entering the light from entering on the front side of the manor went up in flames as fiery arrows shot through the windows and embedded themselves in the walls and furniture. The dry old house ignited instantly wherever they struck, and the flames spread rapidly.

"You were saying?" said Nyx dryly as the others all leapt up from their chairs.

"It's still daylight. We have to hit the tunnels," said Ambrose, bounding to the door leading to the basement. They followed, Erebus narrowly avoiding the first arrival of the second volley of flaming arrows. Still more of the arrows had been fired at the blacked out basement windows, so that it was already on fire when they got there. Ambrose made it to the trapdoor first and wrenched it open, only to be greeted by an enormous burst of scorching flame.

"What the hell?" he cried in shock and anger, throwing himself back to avoid the blast.

†

"Liz is a genius!" said Clare gleefully as she held the homemade flamethrower steady while Kat sent another column of flame up at the open trapdoor.

"Vampires à la flambé," said Kat, "Too bad the pyromaniac herself is missing this."

"Ack! Incoming!" shrieked Clare. They retreated hastily down the tunnel, still aiming the flamethrower at the ladder. An enraged Ambrose leapt down in full game face, charging straight for them.

†

"No! Bad clouds!" said Buffy, glaring at the thick clouds obscuring the sun. It hadn't been nearly as bad when they left headquarters. "Stupid Cleveland weather."

"But it just wouldn't work if it were _that_ easy," said Rona sarcastically.

"_So_ wouldn't have had this problem in sunny California," Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. "Okay, last volley," she said, focused again. She nocked her third arrow, the tip of which was wrapped in one of many old oily cloths from Cole's auto shop. She and her six fellow Slayers touched the cloth ends of their arrows to a line of flame on the ground and released the final volley, before discarding the bows and picking up their other weapons.

"Here they come," said Vi, raising a crossbow and taking careful aim at the front door, which flew open. Five lightly singed vampires came bursting out. Vi's finger tightened on the trigger, and the bolt shot straight for Nyx. She saw it coming and yanked a bewildered Alecto in front of her. It connected and Alecto had just enough time to give Nyx a reproachful glare before she disintegrated. Erebus let out an indignant snarl at his sister's demise, but it proved only a temporary distraction, for here, arrayed before him on the lawn, was the feast of his dreams.

"Buffy?" asked Willow. Buffy nodded, not taking her eyes off Nyx. Willow closed her eyes and laced her fingers together just before her face. She spoke the memorized incantation, finding as she did so that the Latin came much easier than it used to. "Ego voco a contego super proeliator. Planto pallens oppugno quod cado in lemma. Ego voco a contego super proeliator. Planto pallens oppugno quod cado in lemma." Her eyes flew back open. They had gone completely black. She spread her arms wide, and her hair whipped back as though it had been caught in a high wind as the magic was released. All seven of the Slayers in front of her were momentarily encased in a deep purple light, which faded until it was almost completely transparent. Willow continued her chant, maintaining the protective spell.

†

Back in the tunnel, the same had happened to Kat and Clare. Ambrose's fist seemed to get caught in a thick substance before it made contact with Clare's face, so that when it connected, it barely hurt at all. She grinned triumphantly and sent him flying back with her retaliatory punch. "Thank you, Willow," she muttered, she and Kat readying for his next attack.

†

In the front yard of the manor, the battle had commenced. Willow's spell effectively prevented any of the abnormally strong vampires from doing significant damage to their opponents, though the Slayers had so far not made much headway with this advantage. Chao-Ahn and Vi had ganged up against Arawn; Chao-Ahn slashing through the air with an elegant black and gold kuantao, Vi a whirl of steel with her sword. For all their speed and agility, Arawn ducked and dodged through their attacks with apparent ease.

Yards away, Alex and Renée fought Persephone, whose movements were almost like liquid as she evaded their attacks. Where one instant, Alex would strike with her axe, the blond vampire would suddenly have danced out of range of the blow, and whenever the blade of Renée's claymore seemed to be headed straight for the kill, she somehow managed to dodge.

To their right, the third fighting trio consisted of Rona and Elena against Erebus, whose technique was becoming steadily less predictable as his mounting bloodlust robbed him of any ability to employ a proper form. The result was that both of his opponents dealt him rather significant injury; Rona having managed to run him through with her sword, and Elena crushing one of his hands with her mace.

That left Buffy to fight Nyx—the oldest living Slayer in history up against one who, in death, had brought destruction on fourteen of her successors with appalling ease. While Nyx's fellows couldn't do much in the face of Willow's protection spell, her own strength enabled her to deal as much damage as any regular vampire would in an ordinary fight. However, _this_ opponent was no green first year Slayer with no idea what she was facing. Buffy had witnessed the deaths of all fourteen of those Slayers and had learned Nyx's fighting style from them. She was pleased to note that with every one of her blows that connected and each of the vampire's that she avoided, Nyx grew more and more incensed, and her wounded pride did not fuel a perfect technique.

Unfortunately, what Willow had not counted on when she first had the idea to use the warding spell was how quickly it would deplete her energy. "Ego voco a contego super proeliator. Planto pallens oppugno quod cado in lemma. Ego voco a contego...super proeliator. Planto pallens oppugno quod...cado...in...lemma." She struggled to draw breath to repeat the chant, but her lungs weren't cooperating anymore. Why was this so hard? She could teleport—even with passengers—multiple times in an hour without it throwing her, and she could heal at least three Slayers before it really started to effect her. But this, of course, was protective magic of a level she had never before attempted. She hadn't taken the time to learn it; to hone it so that she could cast it efficiently and draw on the earth as an energy source. As a consequence, she'd been using only her own energy this whole time, and it was nearly out. The realization of her brashness was the last thought that passed through her mind before she slumped to the ground.

†

In the tunnels, Kat whirled in a flying double kick at Ambrose, who caught it full in the face and jerked around from the impact. Clare was about to finish him off with her stake, when, suddenly, the barely visible purple field around herself and Kat sparked and abruptly vanished. Kat gestured wildly at the abandoned flamethrower, before tackling Ambrose. Clare dashed past them towards Liz's parting gift. Ambrose now fought back with the reckless wrath of a berserker. His long-anticipated chance to fight against Slayers was not turning out how he'd planned. Kat was overcome with debilitating fear; with the unexplained failing of Willow's protection spell, she could now barely deflect the brutal attacks coming at her.

"Look out!" shouted Clare. Kat came back to herself enough to kick Ambrose away from her, and she hit the tunnel floor hard just as the third burst of flame shot towards them. She smelled burned hair as the bottom of the flames came within inches of her where she lay, and heard the agonized roar as Ambrose was engulfed in the yellow flames. He flailed around, trying to put it out, but burned to ash within seconds. Clare sank to the ground and Kat crawled over to her, and they both remained there, panting and exhausted.

†

Arawn let out a mad cackle of laughter and redoubled his attack when Vi's and Chao-Ahn's magical shields shorted out. His fist slammed into Vi's chin from below, and she flew up into the air and crumpled heavily to the ground, stars exploding across her vision and her tongue bleeding profusely where she had bitten into it. He turned to deal a blow of equal force to Chao-Ahn, but didn't see the flash of her kuantao until the blade on the end of its staff had already connected with his throat. For a second, it seemed like nothing had happened, but as he turned to dust, it became clear that the stroke had actually severed his head from his shoulders.

Beside them, Erebus had lashed out with a flurry of kicks and punches, knocking both Rona and Elena to the ground. He turned to see an unconscious Willow mere feet away. He ignored his recovering Slayer opponents, unable to resist such an easy meal just lying there.

Buffy landed a kick directly to Nyx's stomach, sending her flying backward. Without breaking stride, she rounded on Erebus. "You kill the general, she dies nobly in battle; story's over. You kill her subordinates, she lives on in shame and failure," she said coolly as the stake end of her Scythe went straight through his heart, before she turned back to Nyx, who seemed to be more furious at her own line getting tossed back in her face than that yet another of her centuries-old companions was now dust.

On their other side, Persephone doubled over as Alex's axe went straight up into her gut and didn't recover in time to avoid Renée's claymore before it had removed her head, and she too turned to dust.

"But, personally," Buffy continued as she and the other Slayers moved to surround Nyx. "I've never had a problem with taking out the general."

To her immense disquiet, however, Nyx's anger suddenly melted away and she began to laugh maniacally. "Such an interesting day," she mused. "In less than twenty-four hours, I've gone from lead role to solo act."

"Time for your grand finale," said Buffy, as Chao-Ahn, Rona, Alex, Renée, and Elena closed in.

"Show's not over yet," said Nyx as if she were talking to a petulant child. In one fluid movement, before they could blink, she cracked Alex's and Renée's heads together, sent one kick to Elena's solar plexus and a second to Rona's, jerked Chao-Ahn's kuantao from her grip and jabbed the blunt end at her stomach, and backhanded Buffy across the face. All six Slayers staggered, Buffy feeling as if her nose was broken. When they recovered, Nyx was nowhere to be found.

"Did anyone see?" asked Buffy, wincing and holding a hand to her nose to try to stem the thick flow of blood from both nostrils.

"She ran," said Vi painfully around a rapidly swelling tongue, pointing up the street.

* * *

The Guardian from "End of Days" turning up and chatting with the big kitty. I love the Guardian. She is awesome. The way I see it, with what I've set up here, we've got the Guide (tiger), the Guardians, and the Watchers, all concerned with the Slayers, and then the Scythe that links them all together. Niftiness. Nyx getting turned during her Cruciamentum. Seemed the best and most horrifying circumstance under which that could occur. The Lucia/Nyx name opposites thing. Seemed, as Oz put it, fitting. By the way, Arawn is the Welsh ruler of the underworld, Persephone is the queen of Hades, Livius means envy, and Alecto and Ambrose mean eternal. And for those of you who didn't figure out which sins they all represent: Nyx, obviously, is Pride; Arawn was Avarice; Persephone was Lust; Erebus was Gluttony; Ambrose was Wrath; Alecto was Sloth; and Livius was Envy. Oz's mad tracking skillz. For, yes, he can be useful during non full moon parts of the month. The stuff Cole got from the auto shop. If you didn't catch it, that consisted purely of the old oily rags the elite squad used for their flamin' arrows. Liz leaving. I mentioned back in "What Lurks Beneath" how much she misses life with her dad. Liz's flamethrower. Does she know how to leave something for everyone to remember her by, or what? So awesome. The pyromania was also mentioned in "What Lurks Beneath". The battle. Fun stuff. I liked how many different ways I managed to kill off those five vamps. Nyx's survival. It's a statistically obvious result, considering her track record. Oh, and, by the way, it really was overcast that day in Cleveland. Just to point out my ridiculous thoroughness, in case anyone forgot about it. Willow getting burn-out from the protection spell. Not everything can go right in this kind of battle. Willow isn't a bottomless well of magical energy. Protection that thorough for nine Slayers at once is going to drain her like few other things could. Oh, and her fun Latin incantation chant of fun-ness meant something like "I conjure a shield over the warriors. May damage to them be dampened." Meh.


	13. 8x13: Realization

Episode 13: Realization

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

Saturday, December 20, 2003

"Have you found anything?" called Giles.

"Other than fresh graffiti? No," said Buffy. She wrinkled her nose. "This place smells like blood, death, and charcoal."

"You expected different from the burned down ruin of a mansion previously inhabited by vampires?" he asked dryly.

"I guess not." Buffy shivered. The old, drafty mansion had been made considerably draftier by the many broken windows and large charred holes riddling the walls. Here and there, snow even filtered down through the equally charred ceiling.

"From what we've learned about Nyx since our encounter with her, I rather doubt she'd be keen to hole up in this place, particularly considering the state it's in."

"Yeah. She did seem pretty big on the grandeur," Buffy agreed. "I just thought there might be something here. Like, maybe that Willow could use for triangulation mojo purposes." She nudged a burned lamp table with the toe of her boot and sighed. "I guess if anything here really mattered to her, she'd have already come back for it, but graffiti artists aside, I think we're the first ones to come here since the battle."

"Would you like to head back, then?" asked Giles. She nodded gratefully and they made their way carefully back around ruined furniture and weak spots on the floor.

†

"Find anything?" asked Willow.

"No," said Buffy as she and Giles removed hats, gloves, and coats. "You?"

"I've been trying," said the witch in frustration, "but I can't get a lock on her by magic. There isn't even the slightest indication where she went. I think she might have done something—cast some kind of counter-spell to make her untraceable."

"Would she be capable of such magics?" asked Giles, frowning.

"I don't know," said Willow with a shrug. "But she wouldn't have needed to cast it herself. I doubt a vamp like her would have any trouble intimidating a spell like that out of a sorcerer." She made a face that was somewhere between a pout and a scowl. "Or, at lest, that idea is kinda more appealing than that I can't find her for no reason."

"Well, it's not just you," said Oz, who had just entered and was now brushing the snow from his shoulders.

"What do you mean?" asked Buffy.

"Didn't get so much as a whiff of our missing-in-action vamp queen," he said. "My guess? She skipped town."

Buffy groaned.

"Oh, come on, Buffy," said Willow imploringly. "It's not like she's leaving a trail of bodies. And it's the holidays! You know, with good old Hanukkah-slash-Christmas spirit?"

"I just want to make sure Nyx can't take that away from anyone else," said Buffy.

"We'll find her," said Oz, sounding confident in his standard detached way.

"Yeah," said Buffy, though she looked only half-convinced. "So, what's going on here?"

"Clare was just about to start a marathon with Noëlle's movies. I think she said this one was called _Dîner de Cons_? It sounded good," said Willow.

"Subtitles?" asked Buffy.

"Definitely."

"And hot chocolate?"

"Of course!"

"I'm in," said Oz.

"At least until Xander and Renée get back," Buffy conceded.

†

"I can't believe I found a fellow fan," said Xander.

Renée laughed and took the DVD case from him. It was still wrapped in the shiny plastic of things freshly purchased. "You shouldnae be so surprised," she said, "It's funny, original, the characters are brilliant, and have I mentioned how happy it makes me that there's no sound in space?"

"Once or twice," said Xander. "You realize that that fact alone makes it pretty much the only sci-fi show in history to attempt to obey the laws of physics."

"I think this calls for a marathon," said Renée decisively.

"Of course! I mean, I didn't spend my hard-earned fisherman salary on the DVDs so I could decorate my walls with them."

Renée laughed again. "Hmm, all right, favorite character?" she asked.

Xander groaned. "Always the tough questions." He thought for a minute. "Zoe." Renée narrowed her eyes suspiciously, which he noticed and interpreted correctly. "No, no, hear me out. Contrary to what you might think, it isn't just because she's a beautiful woman who can hold her own."

"Good, because that's exactly what I was thinking."

"I'm not saying that doesn't get her points," Xander qualified before continuing, "but she's strong, loyal, and one hell of a force to be reckoned with, and yet she still fell for a simple guy like Wash. Makes me feel like there's still hope for the everyman." He looked down at the ground, suddenly a little uncomfortable at how easily something like that had slipped out. It wasn't as if Renée was a complete stranger to him. At first, he had merely been the one who took it upon himself to help her adjust to life at the Academy, but time went on and they were still hanging out quite a bit. Among other things, he had discovered that she was just as much of a comic book connoisseur as he was, so most of their more recent interactions had consisted in-depth analyses of various classic superheroes. After Xander fell silent, it remained quiet for a moment and the two of them walked on, feeling the sub-freezing cold of the Ohio winter trying to get through their coats. "What about you?" he asked eventually.

"What?" said Renée blankly. "Oh, right, favorite character." She hesitated. Wash was her favorite character. She hadn't realized before just how much like Xander he really was. The funny, lovable dork who did everything he could as a member of the crew, even if he wasn't the best fighter or leader. In a way, it made him just as much of a hero as the ones who could fight. If Xander hadn't said Zoe was his favorite, maybe she'd be able to say it. Instead, she said, "Vera."

Xander snorted and grinned. "Okay, now favorite scene."

"Jayne's hat!" they said together.

"'How's it sit? Pretty cunning, don't you think?'" Xander quoted in a husky voice that almost made him cough.

"'I think it's the sweetest hat ever,'" said Renée, even faking an American accent in order to sound more like Kaylee.

"'A man walks down the street in that hat, people know he's not afraid of anything,'" said Xander. They laughed and high-fived. "Man. How did such an awesome show get canceled?" he asked despairingly. "I mean, come _on_. Funny, good plots, pirate-y western in space-ness! Exactly where in that is a failed series?"

"Maybe the network people are just possessed," Renée suggested.

"Yes! That's it!" Xander checked surreptitiously to see if she was looking, then quickly bent down and scooped up some of the snow next to the sidewalk. The next thing Renée knew, he had smashed his snowball over her head. She shrieked as the freezing slush trickled down her neck, but she didn't have Slayer reflexes for nothing. Two seconds later, Xander caught the huge retaliatory clump of snow right in the face and fell heavily backward onto the pavement.

"Oh! Are you alright?" she cried, suddenly panicked. In response, Xander grinned and swiped a snowdrift he'd fallen by at her. Suddenly, the far colder winter than he was used to was entirely worth it.

†

"Hey, you're back! Any lu—what...happened?" said Buffy, staring at Xander and Renée, both of whom were soaked to the skin and shivering convulsively, grinning even though their teeth were chattering.

"Snowball fight," said Xander.

"Fun. What about the lead?" said Willow.

"Dead end," said Renée.

"Yeah," said Xander. "We found the vamp, but first he didn't know anything about Nyx, and then he decided he was hungry, so the delegation from Scotland here pulled a little Slayer action on him, and he's dust."

Buffy sighed. "So it's the same story all around. Giles and I went back to the manor, or, what's left of it anyway, but there wasn't any sign that anyone's even been there since we took out Nyx's vampires-in-waiting. Well, unless you count the fresh graffiti, but somehow I can't imagine Nyx was the one who did that."

At that point, Giles came in, shedding his coat again and holding up a sheaf of envelopes. "The post came," he announced.

"Ooh," said Buffy with interest, "What've we got today?"

"More postcards from the girls who went home for the holidays, letters from the parents of those who are staying here." He pulled one from the pile and passed it to Renée, who took it eagerly, tore it open, and walked a short distance away to read it. "And another status report from Andrew. Mercifully devoid of video components this time." He handed this envelope to Buffy, who opened it. Expecting a wildly exaggerated account written by Andrew, she was surprised to find instead a short, to-the-point report by Kennedy.

Willow looked over Buffy's shoulder to read it with her. She felt a little twinge of guilt when she recognized the handwriting. Since Kennedy had joined Andrew, they had progressed out of Mexico, through Belize, and were currently in Guatemala, where they were preparing to split off into smaller groups, as Faith and Wood had done. The girls were doing extremely well with their training; even the ones they had found most recently. It concluded with Kennedy wishing a general "Merry Christmas!" to the whole Cleveland crew.

†

Dawn sat cross-legged on the bridge of the Boulware Park playground, several half-emptied takeout cartons littering the area around her. Connor sat across from her. His chopsticks skills were a little less formidable than hers, which meant that the particular piece of sesame chicken he was after proved elusive enough that he was about to give the endeavor up entirely and use one of the plastic forks instead.

"Finished your Christmas shopping yet?" asked Dawn, before taking another bite of chow mein.

"Almost," he said distractedly, the piece of sesame chicken precariously balanced on top of, rather than between, his chopsticks, "I got mom a European cookbook. She's always trying to cook foreign stuff, so she'll like that. And I'll get my sister the newest _Artemis Fowl_ book. And Dad actually _asked_ me to get him a tie. I really don't know what's up with that, but I think I'll get him a really weird one so he regrets it. What about you?"

"Well," said Dawn, "I got _A Charlie Brown Christmas _for Willow, and a nifty leather-bound journal for Giles...that leaves Buffy and Xander."

"What are you gonna get them?" At last, the sesame chicken was conquered! He popped it into his mouth triumphantly and looked down into the carton in search of his next victim.

"If I can find it, I want to get one of those cool tricorn pirate hats for Xander."

"Why, does he like pirates or something?"

"Actually, he kind of lost an eye back in the spring," said Dawn. Connor looked appropriately shocked, and she hastily made up an explanation for it. "He, uh, had an accident at one of his construction sites. But he's really cool and funny about the whole thing, and he works on a boat now, so I thought I'd get him the last thing he needs to complete the ensemble." She snickered at the sudden mental image of Xander fully living the pirate stereotype, complete with a foul-mouthed parrot on his shoulder. Though perhaps not a hook or peg-leg. He didn't really need to lose additional body parts.

Connor chuckled as well. "What about your sister?" he asked thickly around the next bite of chicken.

"Well, I was thinking a sword, but that would be expensive and kinda hard to ship, so probably just a dagger."

"You're...getting her a weapon?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

_Nice going, Dawn_, she thought. _Blurt out random weird things to the normal boyfriend. _She laughed awkwardly. "Buffy collects them. She's big into martial arts and stuff." _Better. All true. Almost normal. _She leaned forward to snatch some chicken from Connor's carton.

"So, what about you?" he asked, inwardly wondering how she had managed to capture the chicken so deftly with her chopsticks.

"Huh?" said Dawn.

"For Christmas. What do you want?" Dawn was sure she had imagined it. Had he just expressed an interest in getting her a Christmas present? Suddenly, her mind was completely and unhelpfully blank. She had absolutely no idea what she wanted. She'd been so focused on getting everyone else cool and appropriate gifts that it hadn't exactly entered her thoughts that she might be getting something as well. She hadn't even told Connor about the gift she was most proud of: a picture of Tara she found in her wallet, which she was going to send Willow along with _A Charlie Brown Christmas_, as she wasn't sure Willow had managed to salvage one of her before Sunnydale was destroyed.

"Um. I think my brain just froze," she admitted, blushing.

He laughed. "Should I just guess?"

"That would be a happy thing," said Dawn.

"Hey, is your sister coming here to visit, or you visiting her?" he asked tentatively.

"Neither," she said, her heart sinking a little."Buffy's too busy. She has to work through the holidays 'cause of the whole tuition thing, and plane tickets on either end kinda drain funds. But she owes me."

"Oh. Well, then, if you don't have plans," he said, sounding nervous and hesitant, "do you want to come to L.A. with me and spend Christmas with my family?"

"And have a real family Christmas?" Takeout cartons went flying as she threw herself forward and latched her arms around him in a tight hug. "Yes!"

Connor grinned and hugged her back. Dawn pulled back a few inches, and brought her lips to meet his. Despite tasting rather strongly of Chinese food, it was quite an incredible experience for both of them. The very small portion of Dawn's mind that wasn't entirely occupied with kissing Connor was feeling smug that at least, in this department, she currently had Buffy one-upped.

†

Willow headed for the kitchen to refill her mug of hot chocolate. The group had just spent the last eighty minutes very enjoyably watching _Dîner de Cons_, a comedy which involved Pierre Brochant's disastrously backfired plans to show off the astounding idiocy of François Pignon at a dinner with his friends. Once in the kitchen, Willow came across Renée, who was already boiling water for more hot chocolate. "You gonna watch the next movie with us?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," said Renée brightly, though somewhat distractedly. "That last film was brilliant, wasn't it?"

Willow smiled at her and moved to help with the hot chocolate. "So, I noticed that the movie wasn't the only thing you were watching before," she said slyly.

"What?" asked Renée uncomfortably.

"Come on, I saw the moon eyes you were making," said Willow, smirking.

"What do you mean?" said Renée, adjusting the heat of the stove.

"Look, honey, I hold the record for longest running unrequited crush on Alexander Lavelle Harris. I can sense it, so there's no point trying to hide it from me."

"Oh." Renée fidgeted. "Do...do you know if he feels that way about me?"

"Well, he definitely _likes_ you." Renée brightened hopefully, but Willow wasn't done. "In a friend way." Her face fell predictably at this. "You score big points there for being comic book and sci-fi savvy. Also, you've got the awesome accent working for you."

"Okay, so, how do I get him to like me in a more-than-a-friend way?" she asked, clearly uncertain as to whether Willow was her ally here.

Willow paused and thought a moment. "Well, you could try the Cordelia Chase attack plan."

"Huh?"

"That would involve hating his guts, getting him to hate yours back, then inadvertently kissing him while the two of you are trapped together somewhere against your will."

Renée blinked.

"Not what you had in mind? Okay, well, there's always the Willow Rosenberg offensive."

"_You?_" said Renée in shock. "But I thought you said it was unrequited!"

"It was," Willow assured her. "This was after I got over him."

"Oh," said Renée. Then she frowned. "What?"

"Wait until you're both seeing other people, and then, just before the first big formal dance for you and your _actual_ boyfriend, let yourself succumb to the amazingness that is Xander in a tux. And don't forget to keep it going _exactly_ long enough to completely shatter his relationship and get his actual girlfriend almost killed in the process."

"Next," said Renée, now considerably alarmed.

"Okay, there's always the Faith Lehane approach."

"_Faith?_" she exclaimed. "As in, the Faith who _trained_ me?"

"Yup," said Willow, who found she was getting a wicked sort of enjoyment from this. "That one involves getting into a fight you might not quite be able to handle, letting him run your enemy over with his tacky old car, and then jumping him. Oh, and this is strictly a one night stand strategy."

"I'm starting to regret talking to you," said Renée flatly.

"Last one," Willow assured her. "Attempt on several occasions to get his attention, and when that doesn't work, proposition him out of nowhere. That one actually had the highest success rate."

"Why? Who was she?"

"Anya." Both of them grew rather serious. Renée poured boiling water into the six cups lined up on the counter and Willow added the hot chocolate mix.

"She was the one he was going to marry, wasn't she?"

Willow nodded. "Look, I didn't tell you all of this to freak you out. Though, don't get me wrong, fun was also had there."

Renée gave Willow an indignant look, which she failed to notice as she began adding marshmallows to the hot chocolate.

"I want Xander to find someone he can be happy with, especially after everything he's been through. From what I know of you so far, you've got the potential to be that for him."

"Thank you," said Renée, feeling rather honored. Somehow she also felt like her simple crush was suddenly an enormous responsibility.

"Xander still misses Anya; he always will," Willow continued, "but I can tell you from my own experience that being alone is a lot scarier than moving on. I'm not sure he's ready yet, but when he is, you might have to be the one to make the first move."

Renée looked very apprehensive, but she nodded.

"Now come on," said Willow, giving Renée a friendly smile, "Let's go watch the movie."

It was a cozy sort of afternoon; snow falling gently outside, French movies and hot chocolate inside. The building was much more quiet and peaceful than usual with most of the inhabitants home for the holidays. Later in the evening, Willow sat on her bed, a jumble of French dialogue and obnoxiously repetitive tunes from the musical script of _Les Parapluies de Cherbourg_ stuck in her head. She turned PEZ-witch over and over in her hands, scrutinizing every detail. Bright orange hair, green skin, black conical hat, beady little black eyes, large, protruding white tooth, long, bulbous nose and chin; most of which were the stereotypical witch characteristics that she normally found incredibly irritating, but PEZ-witch somehow got away with it.

One of the musical monologues from the protagonist of _Parapluies_ filled her head, and, annoying as it was, she gratefully let it drown out her roiling thoughts. It was interrupted suddenly when Buffy entered the room.

"Oh, hey," said Willow, starting to get up. "Is patrol about to start?"

"No," said Buffy, "Not for a while." Willow nodded and sat back down. Buffy joined her. "So...what were you and Renée talking about in the kitchen earlier?" she asked curiously.

"Why, what was wrong with her?" asked Willow, a little worried that she'd overdone it.

"Well, not so much 'wrong', as 'traumatized, grateful, and determined' all at once. Which I didn't think was physically possible for just one face."

"Oh," said Willow, chuckling a little. "Yeah, I talked to her. I've been catching her doing pretty accurate impressions of me when I was a Xander stalker lately."

"She was kinda enthusiastic about going with him this morning when we were dividing up our pathetic leads," Buffy agreed. "But, seriously, what did you say?"

"I told her that if she wants Xander, she'll probably have to make the first move. It wasn't all that different from what you used to tell me when I'd swoon over him, except that I handled it in a very long-winded, scaring the crap out of her sort of way."

"Do you really think Xander's ready for that?"

"Maybe not," said Willow, "but you've seen how he is around Renée. Not to be all manic matchmaker lady, but they really seem like they'd be good together. And I don't want him to have to be lonely."

"He's not the only one," said Buffy, looking Willow shrewdly in the eyes. Then she shook her head. "Look, I know why _I'm_ on hold indefinitely as far as relationships go, but why are _you_?"

"When did this conversation switch from being about Renée and Xander to me and Oz?" Willow asked grumpily.

"When you gave Renée the same advice that you needed yourself, when you automatically included Oz in that question, and when I lost count of how many times I've seen you holding that thing in the past month," Buffy replied calmly, pointing at PEZ-witch still nestled in Willow's lap.

Willow huffed and shoved it back under her pillow. "Well, what am I supposed to do?" she asked, a little bit of a plea in her voice. "I mean, he left! After having a wolfy romp with bad girl Veruca and almost eating me, and then he didn't even bother to let me know where he was or if he was okay for three years, and has everyone forgotten the me being gay part?"

Buffy raised her eyebrows as Willow grew steadily more hysterical in her ranting.

Catching sight of Buffy's expression, Willow deflated. "I know, I know, 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks', but..." She trailed off, frowning. She tried as hard as she could to feel any real resentment over the things she had mentioned, but failed. She had always known that he had never meant for any of the issues surrounding his departure to happen. Moreover, three years later and twenty-three hundred miles away, after everything they had both gone through, it was clear that he would still go to any lengths to protect her, even at the expense of his own peace of mind.

As to the orientation thing, it hadn't really ever been about gender for her, but about who she could love. Oz, and then Tara... It went much deeper than the crush she'd once had on Giles or even the much stronger one she'd harbored for Xander for nearly all of her childhood and up through her late teens. Oz was the first person she had ever really loved, and she wasn't sure what that meant for her now. And, since her relationship with Kennedy had fallen to dysfunction without Oz's intentional help, she couldn't blame him for anything else. He wasn't even possessive and dangerous like he had been on his final visit to Sunnydale, he was simply the same quiet, sweet Oz she used to know and love. As this maelstrom of confused emotion and thought whirled violently within her, she found herself wishing vaguely that all of the _Parapluies de Cherbourg_ music hadn't been blown out at its onslaught. "He left..." she said again, trying feebly to make it mean something.

Buffy chuckled, and Willow looked up at her. "That's the trouble with our men, isn't it?" she asked. "But I think we both know that leaving doesn't mean they stopped caring. Pretty much the other way around. Then-me couldn't see that, but now-me gets it. Doesn't like, but gets."

Willow noticed that Buffy fingered her cross necklace absentmindedly as she said it. "Yeah, me too, I think." She sighed. "And Oz and I have been getting along pretty well, with a lot less of the awkward." Her eyes widened as a new dilemma presented itself to her. "But how do I know if he's not just, you know, humoring me, or trying to be friends only?"

Buffy smirked and rolled her eyes a little. "I think, as always, you underestimate the power of your wily Willow charms." Willow snorted in disbelief, but Buffy went on determinedly. "I've said it before, and I'm saying it again: once you fall for Willow, you _stay_ fallen. Oz is just Mr. Stoic, so it's a little harder to see. Except for the one glaringly obvious clue that he never moved on enough to look for someone new in his life. I'm not saying I think that's been super healthy for him, but still..."

"Really?" said Willow. She couldn't help feeling hopeful in spite of herself.

†

Patrolling was a little unusual with so many of the new Slayers back home for the holidays. Only twenty-one of them had remained at headquarters. Mostly to humor Buffy's paranoia that something horrible would befall Cleveland if they lightened up on the patrol routes, only the one odd Slayer out got the night off at a time, leaving five full squads to patrol every night. Tonight was Alex's night off, and as it was the first she'd had since before everyone had gone on holiday, Cole seized the rare opportunity to take her out on a date.

This left the non-Slaying crew at an unprecedented minimum, with only Willow, Xander, Oz, and Giles remaining at headquarters. Giles had assigned himself the mountainous task of reorganizing all of the records of demonic activity they'd encountered since May, hoping that by sifting back through it all carefully, he might find some pattern they'd missed before, which could prove the key they needed to find the Hellmouth at long last. The other three were enormously relieved that he had set this project up on the first floor and insisted in doing it on his own. Oz's band had been spending the better part of their free time for the past week perfecting their latest song, so he brought his guitar with him to give himself the option of practicing until the twenty white lights would creep back up the map to base.

The five squads loaded up with weapons and departed, a little worn out from the extra large routes they'd been taking over, but by no means too weary to handle themselves. Willow, Xander, and Oz sat on one of the wide couches around the table where the map was currently spread and prepared themselves for the long wait until two in the morning and the end of patrol.

†

Buffy, Renée, Clare, and Laurel made their way stealthily from warehouse to warehouse along the East Flats. Buffy and Clare experienced slight déjà vu as they went through the one where Morgan Stromberg and her Watcher had met their demise. Just like every other time they'd been up the East Bank since the encounter with Kezran and Morgan's vengeful spirit, Buffy felt goosebumps unrelated to the freezing temperatures rising all over her skin.

"Party next door, it sounds like," said Clare, pointing to the next warehouse with her axe. They all listened intently and heard muffled sounds coming from within it, though no light shone through the windows. They crept closer until they were right up against the building. Buffy exchanged a glance with the other three, then seized the door handle and shoved sideways. It slid open and hit the end of its track with a painfully loud _bang_. Nine large, lopsided, vaguely humanoid figures turned to face the four girls framed in the doorway. Even in the dim light, it was easy to see that they were all oozing an unpleasant orange slime.

"Great. We get Glurggs," said Buffy as her fellow Slayers made noises of revulsion.

"Are we going to end up looking like Miko's squad did that one time?" asked Laurel.

"Most likely," said Buffy, already anticipating a long, soothing shower and fervently hoping that the orange stuff would come out of her coat. "These guys are like gigantic water balloons full of pus."

"I'd have much preferred it if you hadnae told us that," said Renée, who found the visual Buffy had just given her rather unhelpful when it came to not vomiting.

"What do they do?" asked Laurel, raising her sword.

"They're slow and stupid," said Buffy, "but they'll try to absorb you. It's much better to get the guts all over you than to get sucked inside. Believe me."

"So, they're like big, gooey Like-Likes," said Renée. The other three Slayers paused to stare at her. "Oh, come on," she said, "I cannae be the only one who's played _Legend of Zelda_!" Buffy and Clare continued to look bemused, but Laurel smirked in understanding.

The Glurggs all let out oddly muffled gurgling roars of outrage at the unexpected invasion on their new lair, and the Slayers screwed up their faces, ignored their squirming stomachs, and charged.

The first Glurgg hadn't so much as stretched its large, dripping arms towards her before Buffy had swung the Scythe with a sickening squelching sound through its lumpy head and chest. She held up her arms to shield her head as it promptly burst in an explosion of orange pus.

Renée dispatched another one with her heavy claymore and was left wishing that something remained of the Glurgg to retaliate against for all of the goo now covering her. She decided that the next Glurgg coming up from behind would have to do and rolled quickly to avoid the arms trying to close in around her.

Clare swung her axe into her opponent, which exploded like its fellows, and she caught some of the goo directly in the face. The putrid smell of the stuff filled her nostrils and made her eyes burn. The axe clattered to the ground as she devoted her whole attention to wiping the stuff off. Before she found relief, however, with an almighty _sluckk_, she felt herself being drawn into oozing layers of a Glurgg that had taken advantage of her temporary incapacitation.

"Clare!" shouted Laurel as the demon she had just impaled burst and showered her with its insides. She threw her sword at the one that had just absorbed Clare, and its head was lobbed off. Goo jetted up like a geyser, until all that remained was a completely pus-coated, thoroughly miserable Clare. She shook herself desperately, sending droplets of the orange stuff flying in every direction, but it didn't seem to lessen the amount covering her.

Buffy rounded on one of the four remaining Glurggs, but was distracted as she saw a fifth, distinctly human figure a little farther into the warehouse. She squinted and the figure came into sharper focus. It was a girl with curly brown hair, around Renée's age. She stood there rather blankly, looking maddeningly familiar, but Buffy couldn't place where she'd seen her before, nor did she have time to put much effort into figuring it out, for the Glurgg was not interested in an intermission. The girl was obscured by one of the vast orange arms, and Buffy felt a lurch of adrenaline as she returned to the battle at hand. She ducked to avoid the closing arms and brought the Scythe swishing sideways, cleanly bisecting the Glurgg through its middle—well, "cleanly" was hardly the word for it, as both halves promptly spewed yet more orange pus and convinced Buffy once and for all that her coat was now an entirely lost cause.

Renée cringed, ready for her second defeated Glurgg to spray her with more pus, but nothing happened. She lowered her arms in surprise, only for the expected pus to arrive at that precise instant. She stood there for a few more seconds to appreciate the disgusting irony, listening with very slight satisfaction to the sounds of the last two Glurggs meeting their explosive, gooey ends from Laurel and a thoroughly resentful Clare. She then wiped her slightly cleaner left arm hard across her face and gratefully drew in several breaths of air.

"That was the grossest thing I've ever done in my life," Laurel moaned.

"You?" said Clare indignantly, "I'm the one who got swallowed!"

"Hey, did anyone else see the girl?" asked Buffy, looking back where she had been, but nothing was there.

"What girl?" asked Renée, who was still busy trying to wipe more of the stuff off.

"There was a—never mind," said Buffy, now far too interested in getting back to headquarters and that long shower to worry about anything else.

"We will be heading back now, yes?" said Clare pointedly.

"Definitely. We've done and received our share of damage for one evening," said Buffy. "Besides, I'm not sure, but I think this stuff hardens after a while." The other three yelped in alarm and they all departed as quickly as they could.

From within the deepest shadows of the warehouse, blank white eyes watched them leave, but their owner stayed obediently where she was. It wasn't time yet.

†

It was around then, as the white lights representing Buffy's squad began inching back along the map in the direction of headquarters, that Xander became uncomfortably aware of exactly how much hot chocolate he had consumed during the course of the day.

"Bathroom," he said as he stood and hastily fled from the room.

Which left Willow and Oz alone, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Willow fidgeted, staring determinedly at the map. This was insane. _She_ was insane. It was all fine and dandy for Xander and Renée, assuming something was going to happen there, but _they_ didn't have an overly complicated past to work through. She couldn't let this happen! Not after more than three years! He wasn't allowed to affect her anymore!

Oz, meanwhile, felt as though the cushion Xander had just vacated stretched a mile wide. Would this ever stop? The past seven months of Willow's presence had been a bittersweet heaven to him. It took much more of his self-control than usual to keep from grinning broadly whenever she would speak to him, especially when it was to ask about his music. But she clearly had other things on her mind tonight than to try to strike up another one of those conversations. The quiet now filling the room seemed to press uncomfortably in on him. It wasn't long before he picked up the guitar leaning against the side of the couch and began to strum absentmindedly to chase away the weighty silence.

Willow drew in a short, hard breath as the opening chords of "She Knows" went straight through her, cleanly destroying the final, feeble wall she had subconsciously constructed to bar Oz from her heart. Barely halfway through the first verse, she launched herself across the couch at him and forcefully pulled his face to hers with both hands.

There was a loud, discordant twang of protest from the guitar now sandwiched between them as Oz's fingers abruptly left the strings to tangle in Willow's thick, silky hair instead. His mind was utterly blown as one overwhelming sensation after another wreaked havoc with his system. The world was in perfect freeze frame. Torso: solidly and resolutely present; lungs: filled with the dizzyingly delicious scent of Willow; heart: madly thudding in time with hers. The wolf and everything else within him howled joyfully in long-awaited triumph.

"Not fair," she said breathlessly when they resurfaced.

"What?" he asked, amazed that he had been able to form even that one word in his current condition.

"You played my song."

"Did I?" Strange. He hadn't really meant to play any song in particular, and that one had automatically become off-limits again from the first time Willow had come to The Sound with everyone else for an Illogical Stop Sign gig. It had seemed somehow pretentious or disrespectful to play her song when she was there to hear it, but when it couldn't really be _for_ her like it was supposed to be. Lorin, Cole, and Alex hadn't minded and were content enough to focus on the songs for the new album instead.

Willow nodded, trying and failing to glare at him reproachfully, only managing a slight pout. Oz set the guitar back in its former position by the couch and tentatively stroked the side of her face with his hand. Willow closed her eyes and her brow furrowed in an anguished sort of joy, and Oz pulled her towards him for another passionate kiss. How was it possible that she had waited so long for this? That she had let her pointless fears and insecurities get between them? She felt her mind wiping itself blissfully blank as she kissed him with everything in her.

"Uh," said Xander upon re-entering the room to find Willow and Oz fused at the lips, crushing themselves against each other with all their strength. The sound of his beyond bewildered voice made them both jump. They broke them apart and turned to look at him, gasping for breath. "There are...no words...," he finally managed, his eye still wide with shock.

* * *

No, sorry, you shall not have the writer's commentary yet. What you shall have is the **COMIC ADAPTATION** **of the Willow/Oz kissage scene**. Basically, it's the comic version I made way back then, after many grueling hours of photoshop use, as a way of venting my impatience to use the scene. Voila! Fanfiction meets fanart! I hope you like it! It can be found here: taaroko. deviantart. com/art/now-is-that-time-87015157 (take out the spaces).

Okay, Xander/Renée. I did not come up with this ship. It's in the official season eight comic. One of the only things I like about the season eight comic, in fact. I hope I set it up well here. _Firefly_ reference! Haha! It came out on DVD that December, and I've been comparing Xander/Renée to Wash/Zoe in my head, so making them both obsessive fans of the show was a perfect tie-in. If you haven't seen _Firefly_, you really should. It was also made by Joss Whedon, and is therefore amazing. I realize that the same actor who played the guy responsible for Xander's one-eyed status is the main character of _Firefly_, but I still think it was worth it. I debated over sticking in a comment by Xander about him disliking Mal, but I couldn't fit it in anywhere, and there is no logical reason for a person like Xander not to like Mal, and it wasn't worth that to break a fourth wall, which is _so_ not where I'm going with this thing. Anyway! The French films mentioned. _Dîner de Cons_ is one of the funniest movies I've ever seen. _Les Parapluies de Cherbourg_ is one of the most annoying. I was going to have _Les Choristes_ in there instead of _Parapluies_, but it turns out that _Les Choristes _wasn't made until '04. Curses. Willow's conversation with Renée. So much fun to have Willow tormenting the noob Xander stalker with tales of his past. Connor/Dawn scene. Yes, Well Adjusted Connor is incredibly boring. And yes, he is the kind of boy who thinks of little besides food and girls. Hence preoccupation with orange chicken. Also, I was craving orange chicken when I wrote it. Though he is sensitive enough to get good presents for his family. Their kiss. Why has it taken a whole month since they started dating for it to happen? Because they, unlike, oh, almost every couple in canon, get to start off with normal dating. Remember that this is still before "Origin", so Connor isn't yet aware that he is not, in fact, boring. Buffy's conversation with Willow. Pretty much part two of their "music" conversation from "Enter Nyx". I had no idea I'd done that until I watched that movie again. Oops. Oh well. I'm not changing that scene for anything. Glurggs! They were mentioned in a rather silly conversation between Angel and Lorne in "Apocalypse Nowish", and I figured they were as good a monster of the week as any. The girl. Vast amounts of points to the first person who can identify her. Willow/Oz kissage. YES! I cannot tell you how proud I am of myself for holding back with that one until this far into the season. Something like that must be _earned_. People who haven't seen each other for three years do not magically get back together in a matter of weeks, especially when one of them is gay and in a relationship. I think I took the right amount of time to set this up. Willow snog-attacking him. This, again, comes back to the music conversation with Buffy. That song isn't just powerful for Oz. It seems fitting that it would be the one thing to overcome her doubts, after she's done most of the work-with the help of PEZ-witch and Buffy. I have no problem with the extreme fluff of that scene, since, again, it was _earned_. Also, the sandwiched guitar twang was inadvertently stolen from _Stranger than Fiction_.


	14. 8x15: Reanimation

Okay, before you all start spazzing, yes, I _know_ it says this is episode fifteen, while the one immediately preceding it was thirteen. Fourteen was bumped to the end of the episode lineup, because it's a stand-alone that contains things I don't want to reveal until after the finale. I'd have relabeled it as episode twenty-two and saved all the confusion if not for the fact that I'm OCD enough that chronological order is not something I can just disregard. So, there you are: episode fifteen, one episode early.

* * *

Episode 15: Reanimation

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

Saturday, January 10, 2004

Willow opened her eyes blearily and was momentarily disoriented. Since when were the walls forest green? And a computer desk, and a plaid navy blue bedspread? Oh. Yeah. Oz's room. She blinked against the morning sunlight streaming in through the window and looked around for a clock. There was one sitting on the old drum Oz used for a lamp table. Nine-thirty already. Letting out a soft groan, she sat up, stretched the kinks out of her joints, and readjusted her shirt, attempting to smooth out some of the wrinkles it had acquired as she slept. She heard water running and guessed that Oz was probably showering. Which, she realized, wrinkling her nose, would probably be a good idea for her as well.

Halfway through a huge yawn as she walked out of the room and to the hall, Willow failed to notice the pre-eleven-in-the-morning zombie version of Cole, and knocked into him.

"Sorry," she said vaguely as they both staggered back a little from the impact.

"S'okay," he mumbled, before his tired brain seemed to register who he was talking to. "Willow!" he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?" He scrutinized her with some difficulty, since he hadn't put his glasses on yet. "And...in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday..."

"Oh," she said, "I came here with Oz after everyone got in from patrolling. We still have a lot to catch up on. I guess we must've fallen asleep, though."

"So...you're saying that you two spent the _whole_ night, alone, in his room..._talking_?" said Cole with a mischievous grin. "And Oz knows enough words to make that story even a _little_ bit plausible?"

"Hey!" said Willow, awake enough now to be indignant and threatening. "If you ride that train of thought _one_ stop further, mister, I'll turn you into a...a slug!"

"Right!" he said, his grin melting. "Because it's none of my business so I'm going to go have breakfast now." With that, he hastily sidestepped her and headed down the hall.

"I should have teleported back," Willow muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

†

"Best part for me was Éowyn versus the Witch King," said Renée. She and Xander had just gotten back from watching a morning showing of _Return of the King_, and were now preparing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for themselves in the otherwise vacant kitchen.

"Well, it would," said Xander. "That was one seriously hardcore heroine moment."

"What was your favorite part?" Renée asked.

"Hmm. Tough call," he said, screwing up his face in concentration. "Oh! Oh! The part where Legolas takes down a whole Oliphaunt on his own, then slides down the trunk, and Gimli goes 'That still only counts as one!' Good stuff. We should watch the first two and go again."

"Aye," said Renée enthusiastically. "When did you want to...do...that?" Her voice trailed away weakly. She had turned around to find him looking at her with a softened sort of expression she had never seen on him before, and her breath caught in her chest. His right hand came up to brush against her cheek. Xander was really going to kiss her. He moved closer. She tilted her face up and her lips parted...

"Hey," came Buffy's voice from the kitchen's entrance, "do we still have any—oh!"

Xander snatched his hand away from Renée's face and jumped back about three feet. Buffy, now bright red, stared from Xander to Renée, then back, before bursting into hysterical laughter.

"What?" asked Xander, confused in several different ways and caught completely off-guard.

"You two...you look ridiculous!" Buffy managed, before giving herself over to more peals of laughter. Xander and Renée exchanged mystified, somewhat embarrassed looks, before comprehension dawned on them. They were both wearing the tufted yellow, orange, and red knit caps they'd gotten each other for Christmas in honor of their mutual _Firefly_ appreciation, and both hats were still covered in bits of straw for authenticity.

†

"And you just...laughed?" asked Dawn.

"Hey, you didn't see those hats," said Buffy defensively. She snorted uncontrollably as the image flashed through her mind again.

"But still!" said Dawn, "I can't believe you walked in on that and _laughed_, instead of melting into a gooey puddle of awkward shame."

"I started with the awkward shame puddliness, but—," began Buffy, but Dawn cut her off.

"I mean, 'cause Connor's sister walked in on us on New Year's Eve, and—"

"Wait, _what_?" Buffy interrupted sternly.

"Chill out, we were just kissing," said Dawn, rolling her eyes.

"Dawn, don't you think this is going a little fast?"

"No," she said flatly. "We've been going out for like a month and a half. Besides, the guy took me to _his family's house_ for Christmas. How bad can he be?"

"You really want me to answer that?" asked Buffy, raising her eyebrows even though Dawn couldn't see her expression.

Dawn exhaled as loudly as possible in frustration, and Buffy winced and held the phone a few inches away from her ear to spare it from the unpleasant explosion of static this caused. "Look," said Dawn, making a valiant attempt to sound reasonable rather than incensed, "Connor is _normal_. He's a smart, funny, sweet college freshman boy who was raised in a solid, nuclear, _human _family. Wasn't that, like, the _whole point_ of me staying in California? Aside from school and 'staying safe'? And, hey, all A's, and I'm as safe as I can be without dying of boredom."

"Sorry," said Buffy, slightly mollified. "You know I wasn't saying any of that to try to make your life suck, right?"

Dawn snorted.

"I mean it! I just want to be sure that this guy is good enough for my sister."

"And?" asked Dawn tentatively.

"Well, he hasn't lost any points yet from anything you've said so far," said Buffy reluctantly. "But if he ever hurts you, I might have to modify my no-slaying-humans policy."

†

Buffy put the phone down slightly harder than was wholly necessary. She had spent the past twenty minutes being regaled by yet more tales of Connor Reilly. About five percent of this consisted of descriptions of his family and how nice they were, while the other ninety-five percent went into absurd detail about how good a kisser Connor was.

What with her conversations with Dawn, Willow and Oz being very noticeably back together, and Xander and Renée clearly requiring only some uninterrupted time alone to progress in a couple-y direction, Buffy had already filled her quota on vicarious romance for the year, and they were only ten days into it. It wasn't as if she wasn't happy for her friends and her sister, of course; heaven knew there had been precious little of that kind of joy and contentment for any of them.

The fact remained that the longer she spent on hiatus from romance, especially with the various rekindled or budding relationships going on around her, the more Buffy wished that she would just have that moment wherein she would realize she was ready. Done. Cookies. And then it would finally be her turn. But it hadn't happened, and she knew she couldn't force it. It was important. She had to fully figure out how to be her own person before she could try to make something work with a guy. She sighed. Whatever she told herself, and no matter how true she knew it was, it didn't make "baking" any less lonely.

Immersed in these thoughts, Buffy hadn't really been aware of picking up the phone again and beginning to punch in a new number. She realized with a little start that she had almost let her detached musings get her all the way through dialing the Los Angeles Wolfram and Hart offices, and she dropped the handset back onto the receiver as if it were a poisonous snake. At that moment, the door opened and Willow entered, the same radiant air about her that she'd had for the past three weeks.

"Hey," said Buffy, quickly pasting on what she hoped was a cheerful expression, not wanting to dampen her friend's mood with her own gloom. She hardly even had to fake the cheerfulness around Willow; even though she was slightly jealous, the redhead's joy was still infectious.

"Hey!" said Willow, beaming back at her.

"So...what happened at Oz's place last night?" Buffy asked, her voice heavy with teasing assumption.

Willow blushed. "You and Cole with the unwanted perceptiveness," she huffed. "Nothing _happened_, except lots and lots of talking."

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

Willow glared, but eventually gave in. "And, okay, snuggling. But that's it! We've only been back together for three weeks, and a huge factor in relationships going kaplooey—especially mine, lately—is making with the overly hasty. And neither of us wants kaplooey."

Buffy shook her head, smiling. "The way you two have been around each other, I really doubt that kaplooey is even possible," she said, unable to stop herself adding the tiniest of eye-rolls in with the sentence.

Willow grinned and walked to the closet in the bathroom.

"Going back out?" asked Buffy, a little disappointed. She had hoped to spend more time with her best friend.

"The band is practicing," said Willow as she dug around in the closet until she finally withdrew the coat she'd been after, then put it on while she reemerged and headed out again.

"Have fun," said Buffy. She watched Willow shut the door behind her and stared at it for a few moments before jumping up and exiting as well.

†

Xander shivered a little and drew his coat more closely around him. He looked out over the edge of the roof at the sprawling city, but wasn't really seeing it. He had almost kissed Renée. He would have done it, too, if Buffy hadn't interrupted and made the whole thing seem ridiculous. This changed the situation completely. He liked her, and apparently not just as a friend. When had that happened? They had so much in common: a knowledge of comic books so comprehensive that it tended to alarm the rest of the populous, a liking of the same movies and TV shows, snowball fights, hot chocolate... Before he realized it, his thoughts had started moving in a different direction. The way the sunlight had danced off Renée's hair when they walked back from the theater together. The way her whole face lit up whenever he looked at her. The way, under the comic book loving surface, she was a kind, loyal, strong, and beautiful woman...

What was wrong with him? It hadn't even been a whole year since he lost Anya, and he was apparently already prepared to kiss someone else! Despite their problems, he had loved—_still _loved—Anya with his whole being. That wasn't supposed to be something you just got over. He slowly pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open to her picture. There was Anya smiling up at him from that little photograph. As careful as he had tried to be with it, it was still creased and even a little faded from how many times he had taken it out and looked at it. A tiny white blotch marred her left cheek, but the rest of her face was undamaged. He hastily put the picture away again to prevent the fresh tears welling in his eye from spilling on it. At a noise behind him he jumped and quickly shoved his wallet deeply into his pocket again and turned around.

"Xander?" It was Buffy, looking alarmed to find him there. "What are you doing here?"

"Just, you know, enjoying the view," he said, throwing an arm out expansively to indicate the city. "You?"

"I came because I didn't think anyone else would be up here," she admitted, ducking her head so that her mouth and nose would be covered by the thick scarf she had wrapped around her neck. She cast a bemused look at the hat Xander was still wearing, but decided not to comment on it this time and merely walked up slowly to stand next to him. "I'm sorry about what happened before," she said after a brief silence. Her voice was a little muffled by the scarf now, but the sincerity in it was still audible.

"And here I was about to thank you," he muttered.

"Why?" she asked.

"Don't play dumb, Buffy. Please," said Xander. "I know what you're doing, and I don't want you to manipulate me into psychoanalyzing myself."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

He let out a very long sigh and watched the vapor from it dissipate into the air in front of him, then chuckled humorlessly. "I guess I'm not getting out of this one, am I?"

"As long as there's a confused and hurt Scottish girl downstairs pretending nothing's wrong with her? No, you're not."

"I didn't want to hurt her," said Xander quietly. "But I can't do this."

"I know you don't believe that," said Buffy.

"Don't I?" He wanted to lash out, get defensive—even yell, but he couldn't muster the energy for that kind of fight with anyone.

"At least part of you wanted it, or there wouldn't have been anything for me to interrupt."

"And the rest of me wants to shrivel up into nothing because of it."

"Xander, you can't do this to yourself."

"What, I can't show a little respect for the dead and grieve like I should?" he demanded, starting to feel a little more like picking that fight now.

"You _have_ been grieving, Xander," said Buffy imploringly, putting a hand on his arm. "I've seen how much it tore you up, even when you tried to hide it with the old you—until you met Renée. You've been _happy _again. It hasn't just been an act to fool yourself and the rest of us for weeks now."

"Doesn't mean I'm ready."

It was Buffy's turn to sigh, though hers was one of mingled exasperation and sympathy. "You don't have to be afraid of letting people in. I had all of you when Angel left, when Riley left, when I lost my mom, and then when Spike..." She shook her head. "I don't even want to think about how all of that would have been if I'd been on my own. When they're gone, they leave holes in you. The holes might start to close over on their own after a while, but they don't _heal _without help from people who care. But this hole is too big for just me, Giles, and Willow."

"Maybe I don't want the hole to heal."

"So you're telling me you want to feel like that forever?" said Buffy. He didn't reply. "You can't pit Renée against the ghost of your past," she went on. "It's not fair to her. She's not trying to replace Anya. And if you're going to insist on moping until you don't feel guilty anymore, you should at least explain to Renée. You owe her that much, if you really think you have nothing else to offer."

Not giving him time to reply this time, she turned back and soon had disappeared within the building once again, leaving Xander alone. He didn't want to hurt Renée. In fact, it unnerved him how strongly he didn't want that, but he still wasn't sure he could bear the alternative.

†

Buffy descended the ladder and four flights of stairs, feeling a little annoyed at the irony of her life. How was it that she, who had yet to make a relationship work in any permanent sort of way, was the one to provide relationship counseling for Willow, Xander, and Dawn? She should be getting paid for this.

Having reached the area where Giles, as usual, sat poring over the reference book while drinking tea, she flopped down in one of the empty chairs beside him. "Well," she said with a small, hysterical giggle, "I've heard it from the rest of the gang, so is there anything you want to confide to me about, you know, your personal life? I might just impart life-altering wisdom."

Giles gave her a look which told her quite plainly that he feared for her sanity.

She sobered. "Never mind. Find anything new?"

†

Willow, Oz, Alex, and Cole returned to headquarters late in the evening, just before patrol would start. Tonight would be the first night everyone was back from the holidays, so the Slayers spent a little while in the training room getting reaccustomed to their squads before setting off.

The vacancy left by Noëlle in Buffy's squad had been filled by Megan, a slight-figured girl of sixteen, who had arrived from Waco, Texas only a couple of days earlier. Much of the first hour of patrolling was taken up by Buffy, Clare, and Kat bombarding her with tales of their past encounters in the city—though they had wordlessly agreed not to mention Noëlle's demise if at all possible. Apart from it still being a painful subject for them, they thought it would hardly be wise to tell the new girl about the horrible death of her predecessor.

"You really killed a sea serpent?" asked Megan in her strong Texan twang—a jarringly different sound than Noëlle's French accent had been. It would definitely take getting used to.

"I didn't appreciate it swallowing me," said Buffy, "Or, you know, how it had a habit of snacking on water-skiers."

"Yeah, well, I'll bet Leviathan drool wasn't as gross as Glurgg innards," said Clare.

"No, definitely not," Buffy agreed, wrinkling her nose.

"Hey, tell her about the time when you got possessed by the last Slayer who lived in this city," said Kat. Clare nodded enthusiastically and Megan looked at Buffy, intrigued.

"Oh, yeah. It was this whole thing with a serial murdering demon who escaped from the hell dimension where he'd been trapped," said Buffy, deciding to shorten it to the extreme CliffsNotes version, as she was getting a little bored with the storytelling. "This Slayer, Morgan, was killed by it, and her Watcher was trapped with it in the hell dimension way back in the thirties. Then, last September, the demon came back and started killing again. When we came to the place where it all happened, I guess Morgan's spirit had been hanging around waiting for revenge, because she possessed me and killed it herself."

"Wow," said Megan.

Buffy let the final scene from Morgan's life replay in her mind. The love she shared with her Watcher, the confidence and determination she had in her duty, the life leaving her eyes after the bullet struck her... Buffy frowned. She felt like she was missing something. Something important.

Megan turned back to Clare with a curious expression. "What was that y'all were saying about innards before?"

"Oh," said Clare, shuddering. "The Glurggs, you mean?" Megan nodded.

"From what I hear, they win the prize for 'most disgusting slay'," said Kat. "Gotta say, it was good being elsewhere for the holidays, because that's something I definitely don't regret missing."

"I kept finding orange pus in random places for days, even though I scrubbed myself so hard in the shower that I had raw patches all over!" said Clare indignantly. Megan and Kat made noises of revulsion.

Buffy was only partially hearing them. The Glurggs. The girl in the shadows. Why had she been...so...familiar? Her eyes went wide and she gasped in sudden comprehension. Her three companions turned to stare at her.

"She's not getting possessed again, is she?" asked Megan fearfully.

"Dunno," said Clare, shrugging.

"No," said Buffy, "it's nothing like that. I just realized. Oh, my God. I can't believe I didn't figure it out before."

"What _are _you talking about?" asked Kat impatiently.

"It was Morgan!"

"What now? She possessed you, we got that," said Clare, frowning.

"No, no," said Buffy, waving a hand agitatedly, "the girl standing in the background when we fought the Glurggs. Same hair, same face, size, age...yeah, that was Morgan."

"But...that ain't possible," said Megan. She hesitated and looked around at the others. "Right?"

"Unless she wasn't done haunting the place," said Kat uncertainly.

"No. I felt Morgan leave," said Buffy slowly. "Her work here was done. She wouldn't just come back."

"What do you want to do about it?" said Megan.

"I guess wait until after patrol, then tell Giles and hit the books. Maybe have Willow take me on another visit to the big kitty."

"Big kitty?" said Megan, now completely lost.

"It's this spirit guide thing for us Slayers," Clare supplied. "It helped Buffy when she was looking for more information on..." But she trailed off, unwilling to bring the conversation into Nyx-related territory. Fortunately they happened across a gang of vampires just then, and the topic was dropped as the fight began.

†

Miko led her fellow squad members, Christine, Gabriella, and Dani, down one of the streets of their designated route. Christine and Dani were chattering happily about what they'd done for Christmas, but neither Miko nor Gabriella spoke English well enough to join this conversation. Miko caught a few phrases here and there, enough to tell her that while Dani was in Brisbane, Australia, she got to play with her newborn cousin, and that Christine had lost against her older brother in dog sledding when she went home to Alaska. Gabriella, Miko knew, had managed to return to Portugal for two weeks, and had barely convinced her parents to let her come back.

Miko had not been able to go home. She hadn't exactly left on good terms. Many times, she found herself wishing she hadn't been called, and that dinner that day with her family had gone on as every other day. She had been second in her class, and if not for being called, would soon have been university bound. But it couldn't be helped. She was a Slayer, and turning her back on that was not even the smallest of options, no matter what havoc it wreaked with her and her family's plans for her future. She sometimes wondered whether it wouldn't be a better idea if she went back to Japan to start recruiting Slayers there. Surely it would be among the last countries Faith and Wood reached if they continued in the direction they were going, and neither of them spoke the language or were familiar with the culture.

These thoughts were driven from Miko's mind at the same time as Christine and Dani's conversation died away. They were no longer the only things creeping behind these buildings. The language barrier in this squad did not in any way hinder the seamlessness of their teamwork. At the first indication of another presence, they moved into their standard diamond formation, each in a relaxed battle stance, leaving no side unprotected or unwatched. Evidently this had been anticipated, for one figure emerged from the shadows directly in front of each Slayer.

Before Miko stood a black girl with her hair pulled back in a single long braid. Christine faced a short, sallow-skinned girl with thick auburn hair. Gabriella warily regarded a girl whose face and neck were framed with brown curls. Unlike the others, though, Dani's opponent was not unfamiliar, and she drew back in shock. "Noëlle?" she gasped.

Momentarily forgetting form, the other three turned to stare with Dani. Sure enough, there stood Noëlle Chevalier. Like the others, her eyes were completely white, but in every other way, she was exactly as she had been. For one brief instant, the Slayers felt elated; could Noëlle really still be alive? Why wouldn't she have come back to headquarters? Told someone? But then they realized that for as long as they stared, Noëlle—or, her body, at any rate—didn't so much as twitch a finger. She wasn't even breathing. They looked back around. Neither were the others.

"Think Frenchie got vamped after all?" asked Christine, feeling anger rising in her. All they needed was for another Nyx to have been created from the body of their unfortunate comrade.

"No, Buffy said Noëlle was only killed, not sired," said Dani.

"Then what is that?"

"I'm guessing it's not a good thing."

"Fight?" asked Gabriella.

"Fight," replied Dani and Christine firmly. The four Slayers charged forward. In response, the blank-eyed young women broke from their misleadingly statuesque states into sudden flurries of motion, successfully parrying blow after blow even though they were unarmed and seemed to be blind. Their movements were flawless. Miko called forth twelve years of martial arts training as she fought and finally overpowered her enemy, giving her enough time to drive one of the sharpened ends of her quarterstaff through the girl's heart. The empty eyes turned down to the wood sticking out of her as Miko stumbled back, panting heavily from the efforts she had made to get that far. The girl did not explode into dust, nor did she fall, nor give any other reaction that would correspond with the fact that she had just received a gaping chest wound. She merely continued to look almost curiously at the quarterstaff protruding from her chest, before reaching up with both hands, jerking it sharply back out, and twirling it idly like a baton. Miko's eyes widened, and she readied herself for round two.

Five yards to her squad captain's left, Dani was faring about the same. She retreated half a step back to avoid the pelting fists of the thing that looked like Noëlle and ignored the part of her mind screaming that this was friend, not foe, before bringing her sword slashing around with all her strength. Noëlle's head was taken cleanly off her shoulders, and both it and the body fell to the pavement with two thuds of unequal volume. Dani sank to her knees, clutching at the painfully throbbing stitch in her side as she gasped for breath. But at a scraping sound in front of her, she looked back up, and she could have sworn that what she saw caused her heart to miss a beat. The body was moving, the hands feeling around until they located the head, which they then picked up and sat back on top of the neck. After a few more seconds, the healed over and all traces of having been beheaded were gone.

"Well, isn't this just ace," she muttered, readjusting her grip on the sword. Behind her, Christine and Gabriella were witnessing things of an equally upsetting nature; both of their opponents also recovering from what should have been fatal wounds as if they had been nothing.

†

Back at headquarters, Xander, Renée, Cole, and Alex were playing _Halo_ again, while Willow was curled up with Oz on a couch, her head on his shoulder, letting him run his fingers lazily through her hair as they took turns watching the map. Occasionally, she would shoot a mildly annoyed look at Xander, who had so far decided to pretend that nothing had almost happened with Renée, who in turn seemed bewildered and disappointed at the step backwards, but was trying to hide it by focusing on playing the game.

Xander could feel the figurative burn of Willow's glare on his back, but he ignored it. He had rationalized that whatever he was going to do about the situation with Renée should not happen with this many other people around, at the same time squashing the small, reasonable voice in his mind that tried to suggest that he could solve that problem by asking Renée to go somewhere more private to talk.

After her latest glare bounced off Xander just like the ones before it had, Willow gave up and glanced back down at the map. She frowned and sat up straight; one of the clusters of white lights had begun to rapidly change colors.

"Looks like you're up," said Oz.

"Yeah," said Willow. She squeezed his fingers as she stood up. Before she could let go, he pulled the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. She smiled.

"Don't be gone long," he said.

"I won't." She glanced again at the now reddish-orange lights again to make sure she had the right location, then teleported out.

Oz turned his attention to the map, his mind pleasantly hazy due to the strength of Willow's scent lingering around him, but he was brought very forcefully out of this trance when he realized what he was seeing.

"Xander!" he said urgently, leaping to his feet.

†

Willow appeared in the back alley, where she could barely see anything, but she couldn't wait for her eyes to adjust. Not when all four of them were injured. "Fiat lux," she murmured under her breath, holding her right hand out, palm up. A shower of golden light erupted upward from her open hand and hung in the air ten feet above her, illuminating everything. Her heart went cold as the light fell on what looked like a scene out of a slasher film. Actually, more like an image, for apart from the motion and sound of her own breath, everything was horribly still and silent. On either side and in front of her stood three unmoving figures. At their feet lay Miko, Christine, and Gabriella, and the smell of iron was strong from the blood pooling beneath each Slayer's body.

The life force Willow had been able to detect faintly emanating from every Slayer within close proximity of her since she cast the spell in May was utterly absent, but she dismissed this, preferring the idea that her magical spider sense was on the fritz over the alternative, and turned to look behind her. There Dani lay on her side, her own sword protruding from her chest. Another motionless figure stood over her, but Willow paid it no attention. Unable to ignore the evidence of what she felt and what was before her any longer, she covered her mouth with her hands and sank to her knees, a single thought playing on repeat in her mind. She had come too late. Again.

As one, all four of the silent, immobile figures turned their heads in her direction, and through the horror filling her brain, Willow registered dimly that she had seen the one in front of her before. She was the South African Slayer Nyx had killed in the eighties. But how was that possible? She looked around. Two were unfamiliar, and she turned last to look at the one standing over Dani. Noëlle. If Willow had been shocked when she recognized the first one, it was nothing to how she felt now.

Wild theories began to shoot back and forth in her mind as she stared into the blank white eyes of the first Slayer she had been too late to save, but none of them had become coherent before she felt a sudden sharp pain on the back of her head, and everything went black.

†

"What happened?" asked Xander, pausing the game. He walked quickly over to the map. Alex, Cole, and Renée turned curiously to see what was going on.

"The lights went out," said Oz. Xander's eye widened.

"How many?" he asked quietly.

"Four," said Oz. "There." He pointed at the place on the map where all four lights had simultaneously been extinguished.

"We've gotta get Buffy," said Xander.

"Willow's there now," said Oz. There was a pleading note in his voice.

"Oh, God," said Xander, running a hand over his face. He shook himself and turned back to the three still watching them from in front of the TV, looking worried. "Alex, Renée," he said, "Get Erin and Laurel. Now." They nodded and left the room as quickly as they could. "Cole. Get Giles. Tell him four lights went out on the map and we're going to get Buffy and find Willow." Cole promptly exited as well. Xander turned back to Oz, who was still staring at the spot on the map where the lights had vanished and appeared to be going into shock. "Come on, Oz."

Oz didn't move. "She'd have teleported back by now if she was okay," he said.

"That's why we have to get to her. Now," said Xander. "Come on," he repeated. Oz tore his gaze from the map and followed Xander to the stairs. The two of them met Alex's squad coming back up from the basement as they reached the ground floor, where Cole was almost done telling a horrified Giles what had just happened.

"Renée, Erin, you're with me," said Xander, "We're going to find Buffy. Alex and Laurel, you two go with Oz and get Willow out. Whatever this is, it's very possible that it just killed four Slayers, so do _not _fight it. Just get Willow out and run like hell." The two groups silently left the building and headed in opposite directions.

†

Oz, Alex, and Laurel ran the entire mile to where Miko's squad had been patrolling. Even though Oz was shorter than both of the Slayers and lacked their strength, they were barely able to keep up with him. They paused briefly at a street corner while Oz raised his head and tried to catch his breath so as to be able to inhale slowly enough to smell anything. After a couple of failed attempts, he managed it, and soon they were off again at a slower pace as he followed the scent of the four Slayers. Eventually it led them off the streets and behind a row of old buildings, wound here and there among them, and then, without warning, ended.

"What is it?" asked Alex when Oz abruptly halted. Laurel walked forward and looked around. There wasn't anything there.

"The scent," Oz panted, still a little out of breath. "It stopped."

"Do you think they doubled back?" asked Laurel.

"No," he said, "It would have been thicker, and it never branched off. We would have found them before. Besides, this is about where the lights went out on the map. Whatever happened, it happened here."

"Try again," said Alex.

"Haven't stopped yet." Oz closed his eyes and willed himself to catch some scent. Any scent. But all he smelled besides the usual alley smells was the two people standing beside him. There was no trace of Willow or any of the four Slayers on the air.

"Look," said Laurel, pointing at the ground. Oz opened his eyes. A large, shining dark stain was there, not two yards from them. Oz walked to it, crouched down, and inhaled. There. Just barely. Not nearly as strong as it should be, considering how much there was. Blood.

"That's not the only one," said Alex. Oz turned. There, each several feet apart, were three more stains.

"But why aren't there any...," Laurel began, but had to struggle before she could get the last word out, "bodies?"

"We should get out of here," said Alex. "Whatever did this could come back."

"We don't go back without Willow," said Oz.

"I know what she means to you, Oz, but she isn't here," said Alex, trying to be reasonable. "You can't smell her, and four puddles of blood and no sign of anyone in Miko's squad point to extreme badness that we shouldn't be messing with until we know more anyway."

"We _don't _go back without Willow," Oz repeated, this time louder and through clenched teeth. His hands had balled themselves so tightly into fists that he felt his fingernails cutting through his palms, but he didn't care. He saw Willow in his mind. The way she had kissed him in greeting that afternoon when she came to watch the band practice. The way her hair felt as he stroked his fingers through it. The way she had smiled at him before disappearing to come here. And now... If something had hurt her... The edges of his vision blurred crimson with undiluted rage at the very thought of it. A sharp, fiery pain wracked him and he fell to his knees as it coursed through every cell in his body, spreading outward from his chest and flowing right to the tips of his fingers and toes. A constricted cry escaped him as it happened all over again.

"Are you okay?" asked Laurel. Her voice seemed to blast at him, loud, harsh, and unpleasant.

"He's transforming!" said Alex in panic. Her voice too boomed out far too loudly, as though someone had taken the volume knob and given it a few good turns to the right.

"But the full moon is already over!" Laurel protested.

"Big emotional breakdowns kind of change the rules," Alex replied. Her and Laurel's retreating footsteps hammered awfully in Oz's ears as he collapsed on his side, convulsing violently. He knew Alex was right, but didn't try to fight it. The fur was sprouting all over his body, his limbs were shifting, bones changing shape, muscles hardening. His tailbone rapidly curved away from the base of his spine as it grew into the wolf's long, furry tail. His nose and mouth extended out from his face into a long snout and his teeth grew into the deadly fangs he had used to end so many demons over the course of past year and a half.

Moments later, it was over. Oz was almost disappointed to find that his mind was still intact this time. The escape would have been welcome. But this was still better. He could sit back and let the wolf's instincts drive. He reached his head around and used his teeth to tear off the constricting clothing that was still covering him.

"Oz?" asked Alex worriedly.

He shot her a fleeting glance, enough to tell her he was still in there, then growled.

She flinched, then turned to Laurel, who looked like she was torn between attacking him and fainting. "I don't think he wants us here anymore. Let's go," said Alex. She grabbed Laurel's arm and the two of them departed as quickly as they had come. Before they had gone more than twenty yards, a long, loud howl rent the air, sending shivers up and down their spines and propelling them still faster away from the scene.

†

Buffy burst through the doors ahead of Xander and the other five Slayers, only barely having remembered to use her key card before doing so. Giles and Cole stood there, accompanied by Alex and Laurel, both of whom looked thoroughly traumatized.

"Where's Oz?" asked Xander.

"He—," began Alex, but she broke off, shuddering. She swallowed and started over. "We got to where...where it happened, and nothing was there. No bodies, no scary things, no Willow. And then, Oz transformed."

"Is he dangerous?" asked Buffy.

"Not to us," said Laurel, "but definitely to whatever's responsible, if he can find it."

"Fine. We have to find her," said Buffy. She turned to Giles. "Locater spell?" she asked.

"I already tried," he said grimly. "Nothing."

"But Wil—what does that mean?" Xander demanded. "Is she—" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Not necessarily," said Giles. Buffy and Xander almost fell to their knees in relief, and Giles went on, cleaning his glasses slowly and thoroughly as he spoke, "According to Alex, Oz said that the scent ended at the scene. I don't think that was a coincidence. If all four members of Miko's squad were really...killed..." He paused for a second or two. "There were no bodies, no scent, no culprits, Willow's gone, and the tracking spell isn't working? No. Definitely not a coincidence. Whatever is behind all of this, it must know how powerful Willow is. It is even possible that Miko and the others were used as bait to lure her out. All speculation, of course, but if this be the case, I doubt very much it would kill her. Not immediately, at any rate."

"So she's still out there?" asked Xander.

"This big bad, this thing, do you think it'll try to get her back into world-destroying mode?" asked Buffy.

Giles opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. Frowning, he picked it up. "Hello?" he asked.

"Giles!" said a voice he recognized at once. His eyes widened.

"Angel?"

Buffy froze, straining to hear the voice on the other end, remembering suddenly that she had almost called him only hours ago. What could this be about?

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, we've got kind of a—an emergency."

"What's happened?" asked Giles, wondering what else could have gone wrong. He thought briefly of Dawn, but Angel spoke again before he could dwell any longer on that awful possibility.

"It's Fred. She's—oh, God. Her body's been taken over by an Old One. Illyria. We're doing everything we can, but I think we're going to need Willow for this one."

Giles could tell that it was everything Angel could do to keep his voice even. He had met Fred briefly when he and Buffy had visited Wolfram and Hart before coming to Cleveland, and had liked her immensely. And now she had been taken over by an Old One? Meaning that there was an Old One currently walking the earth? Giles didn't even want to think about what havoc such a creature could wreak if it wasn't stopped immediately. He almost started to tell Angel that, of course Willow would be able to help; she'd be there within minutes—when he remembered. It was as if an iron fist had clenched around his heart. "I'm—er, please hold on for just one moment." Despite Angel's protests, he pressed the hold button and looked up at Buffy.

"What is it?" she asked, gathering from the look on his face that it couldn't be good.

"One of Angel's associates, Fred—her body has been taken over by an Old One, and they need Willow, if I gather correctly, to perform restoration magic on her similar to the spell she used when she re-ensouled Angel."

"Fred?" said Buffy, horrified, "But I met her! How...? And Willow... We can't do anything!" She ran her fingers through her hair. This couldn't be happening!

"I know," said Giles. He picked the phone back up and pushed the button again.

"Giles! What's going on?" asked Angel, considerably less calmly than before.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Willow...is missing. We've tried tracking spells—Oz can't even find her scent." He swallowed. "But we'll find her. Call if you learn anything else." Halfway through his last sentence, he heard a funny crunching sound on the other end and then the line went dead. He guessed that Angel must have hurled the phone at the wall in frustration. It seemed a very appealing idea, but Giles suppressed the impulse and set the receiver back into its cradle.

"We _will_ find her, Giles," said Buffy, her voice hard with determination. They had in all likelihood already lost four Slayers tonight. They weren't going to lose Willow, and Buffy wasn't going to let Angel lose Fred. She whirled back around, walked past the bewildered and terrified members of her and Alex's squad who had accompanied her and Xander back, threw the doors open, and disappeared once more into the night.

* * *

Cole and Willow bumping into each other there at the beginning in the apartment. *snicker* Xander and Renée almost kissing. Well, yeah. Jayne hats and Buffy ruining the moment. Of course it couldn't be that easy, and what better way to break it up than with another bit of overblown _Firefly_ obsession? Haha. Besides, I want one of those hats too. Dawn/Connor. Yes, that's still going on. No, Connor doesn't know who he is yet. As you may have noticed, this episode is not concurrent with "Origin," but rather, with "Shells," and was written accordingly. Anyway, Xander and Buffy's conversation about Renée vs. Anya. Something that absolutely had to be addressed. In light of the increasingly repetitive nature of such conversations between various characters, we then have Buffy kind of grumbling about being the relationship counsellor. Haha. I mostly just love Giles' expression after she asks him if he needs any advice as well. Now to the juicy stuff. The mysterious blank-eyed girl from "Realization" returns! And is, gasp, Morgan! And then Noëlle and Samora (the South African one)! Pfft, yeah, like I'm going to tell you what's going on with that already. Snort. Angel calling to ask for help with the Illyria/Fred problem. Go watch "Shells". The canonical conversation didn't exactly go like that, what with the incredibly odd canonical plotline having been that each of the Scoobies was on a different continent, but the point was still essentially that Willow was very unavailable, so some version of that phone call needed to be made here. The bits of the conversation that were exactly the same were the part where Giles put Angel on hold and the part where Angel chucked the phone at the wall. Willow being "missing": perfect explanation for why she can't come to Fred's rescue; perfect catalyst for more horribleness resulting from the loss of Willow. I think this is a much better reason why Willow can't help than the canonical one, which involves Giles being cold and unfeeling in the face of an innocent woman getting body-jacked by an Old One. I don't care how much he didn't trust Angel, _Giles_ would _never_ do that. Even if he didn't know the victim, we're talking about an Old One getting resurrected, here. Of course he would be concerned about that and want to help, unless he's recently been lobotomized. Oh, and more about Willow being missing: the rekindling of Willow/Oz can't happen without a price. You know Joss would have pulled something like this. Just look at what happened to Fred after she and Wesley finally got together.


	15. 8x16: Willowless

Episode 16: Willowless

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

Monday, January 19, 2004

"Anything yet?" asked Dawn, though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer. If good news of any kind was to be had, it would have preceded "hello" in the conversation.

"No. Nothing," said Buffy bleakly. Since Willow's disappearance, Buffy had spent a great deal more time on the phone with Dawn than before in an attempt to lessen the horrible void her best friend had left behind. In addition, she had tousled up the comforter, pillows, and sheets of Willow's bed so it would appear as if it had been slept in, because the first three days and nights of it sitting there perfectly made and unused had about driven her insane.

"Too dangerous for me to be there, huh? I think I finally get that," said Dawn, more as an aside than to Buffy, before adding, "What about Oz?"

Buffy felt her heart give a wrench at this. She wondered if it was just her imagination, or if it really was sore from the countless times that had happened over the past nine days. "He's still out there. Rona said that last night on patrol she saw a big dog that might have been our Oz-wolf, but couldn't get a closer look. I don't think he wants any of us coming near him."

"So he hasn't even transformed back in all this time?" said Dawn, feeling still more horrified and now even a little queasy. In Palo Alto, her life, short of being able to stay with her own family, was essentially ideal. There, everything was breaking down. It made her feel like she was hoarding all of the happiness and stability, and she hated it.

"I guess not. I'm not sure whether he can track the scent better that way, or if he's just too shattered from Wil—from her being missing to change back."

"Did anyone else leave today?" asked Dawn, deciding to move the conversation to different, though hardly less dismal, ground.

"Allison," she replied.

"How many does that make now?"

"Eleven." In the face of the sudden, unexplained deaths of Miko, Dani, Christine, and Gabriella, the rest of the new Slayers had abruptly been forced to come to terms with their own mortality, something they hadn't really dealt with before, not even after Noëlle's death. As awful as that had been, it was still just probability in action. But an entire squad massacred? It didn't lend much credibility to the "strength in numbers" strategy, for one. And with Willow missing, they were down one serious trump card. Combine the two, and the sense of security in venturing out to patrol had taken a surgical strike, from which now eleven Slayers had not recovered. And they surely wouldn't be the last. How could all of this have happened? It was too much!

"Buffy?" asked Dawn in concern. Her sister had just let out a long, shuddering sob.

"Oh, Dawn, I feel so lost. How can I still lead them if I feel so lost?" she asked in a broken voice.

Dawn couldn't think of anything to say, so just let it keep coming.

"I've been trying so hard. Trying to get Willow back. Trying to find proof that we're making any progress in destroying the Hellmouth. Trying to hold this together. But it's still falling apart. I mean, who am I kidding? You're my only real family and I've pushed you three time zones away! I can't even make my own life work. Why did I think I could do this?"

"Stop it!" said Dawn. Buffy's complete hopelessness had almost sent her into tears as well, but she let none of it touch her voice. "Where would the world be without you? You've saved it so many times. The Master would have made Sunnydale the capital city of a vampire kingdom if it hadn't been for you. Acathla would have swallowed the whole world into hell if you hadn't been able to sacrifice the love of your life to stop him."

Buffy made no indication of having heard her, and the unsteady breathing in Dawn's ear meant that she was still crying. Her drive, her conviction—it all seemed to have vanished, as if the fire had gone out of her. But Dawn was hell-bent on blowing on those embers until that flame roared back to life. She'd even accept a flicker at this point. Her voice rose a few decibels and she plowed right on. "The Mayor was going to eat your whole graduating class as an appetizer for the rest of the town, and you blew him up! Adam was going to create a cyborg demon-human Frankenstein army before you took him out! Glory almost succeeded in using me to destroy the _whole universe_, forget just _this_ world, and you gave your life to save it and to save me! After you came back, you managed to pull yourself up from the bottom and were stronger than ever for it! And not even the oldest evil in existence could get past you and your army of Slayers. If I went around trying to count how many people you've saved individually on top of that, or how many monster-of-the-week demons with apocalyptic ambitions you've defeated, it would be impossible! And you're telling me that after all that, you still give up? Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"

There was a long silence after she had finished, but she knew it had worked, if only a little. The breathing on the other end was nearly back to normal.

"When did you get so good at the pep talk thing?" asked Buffy almost resentfully as she wiped her tears away.

"I've got this older sister who does it all the time," said Dawn, the triumphant smirk audible in her tone.

"Well, did you ever tell her how annoying it is?"

"I'll be sure to mention that." Though neither could see it, they both knew the other was finally smiling.

"Thanks, Dawn," said Buffy sincerely.

"No problem," Dawn replied. "Oh, and, happy birthday."

†

For what was likely the hundredth time, Xander found himself standing in front of the three-foot-high wall on the edge of the roof, staring blankly out at the city. He couldn't see quite as far as he usually could from up here, as it all faded rather quickly into the bland whiteness of the snow currently falling, but he wasn't paying much attention either way.

His thoughts unavoidably turned to Willow. The small, hopeful voice in his head telling him that they'd find something that would lead them to her soon had long since grown weary and hoarse, and was now nothing more than a feeble whisper. He remembered Buffy telling him how when someone goes, they leave holes in you. As guilty as it made him feel to admit to himself, the Anya-shaped hole in him was largely healed over with scar tissue now. But the new, raw, burning Willow-shaped hole gaped still wider with every search that came up empty-handed.

Willow had been his best friend since farther back than he could remember. She was simply a part of his existence. The idea of life without her was utterly ridiculous in his mind. After everything they'd been through together, it just didn't seem possible that something could take that away. And that was why, as weak as his hope became, it would not die.

Renée emerged from the top of the ladder onto the roof, and felt relief marred by the now familiar sensation of painful sympathy when she spotted Xander there. Were the situation different, she would have caught his attention with a snowball to the back of the head, for plenty of good packing snow had drifted into piles all along the roof. She thought back to that first snowball fight she'd had with him almost exactly a month ago and felt warmth flood into her cheeks despite the biting, well below freezing temperature. That had been the day she realized that she'd fallen for him, as well as the day Willow had made her realize that there was no going back. She knew it wasn't going to be easy, but had never foreseen exactly how hard it would be either.

That first night, the night Willow disappeared, had opened her eyes to it. After Buffy left to search, Xander soon followed, and Renée went with him. They spent the entire night searching anywhere they could think of, and all the while, she watched as he became steadily quieter and more despairing. Nothing had ever hurt more than watching him go through that, but it didn't stop her from staying right there with him.

Slowly, she walked forward, careful not to slip on the ice and snow, until she stood just a few feet behind him. As quiet as she'd been, Xander knew she was there. He thought of all the times she had done that lately, just being there. Never intrusive or assuming—not even speaking unless he needed her to, and when she did, she always seemed to know just what to say back to keep him from falling apart. It was strange, but he felt as if he'd never quite needed anyone the way he currently needed Renée. He wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but he wasn't about to object, with things the way they were.

She took those last few steps even more slowly, until she finally came to stand next to him before the short wall. This was one of those silent moments that was meant to stay that way. Without taking his eye off the city he still wasn't really seeing, Xander removed his right hand from the coat pocket he'd been using as a glove, and let it fall to capture Renée's left from where it hung loosly at her side. As she squeezed his hand back, that tiny, hopeful, struggling voice in his mind found a powerful new strength.

†

Approximately thirty-six yards down and three miles to the northeast from where Xander and Renée stood, there was situated a vast, cavernous room. The air was dank, damp, and bitterly cold, and the only light in the place came from a handful of torches that would soon need replacing. This dim glow cast shadows that flickered and slithered over the crevices in the walls, so it was hard to tell in places whether one such dark spot marked the entrance to a tunnel or merely an indentation on the rough surface. From the contrastingly smooth floor, exactly in the center of the room, there protruded a menacing metal ram's head inscribed in a pentagram, which in turn was encircled by ominous markings. A large crack ran the length of the ram's head, and the metal of the seal was thoroughly tarnished.

Thirty feet away from this, four figures prowled around the edges of what appeared to be nothing more than a heat haze. The faint glow of the torches illuminated their features and glinted off their empty white eyes. One of the four put a hand out towards the haze, which crackled and flashed brightly at her touch, and she jerked back by reflex. The skin of her palm had been burned away in that one split-second of contact. This continued failure to breach the barrier was not going to go over well...

Sitting cross-legged other side of the haze was a very tired, stiff, cold, and hungry Willow. At this latest attempted breach of her magical shield, the tiniest of smirks lifted a corner of her mouth. It was like watching moths spiral towards flame. She was very pleased with this barrier. It was remarkably powerful, considering that it was the first time she'd tried it. She had been a little worried at first that she wouldn't be able to pull it off, but with the Slayer zombies, or whatever they were, getting instant third degree burns whenever they tried to break through, she had clearly gotten it right. It had involved evoking the four elements and setting each for a cardinal direction: air for the northern winds, water for the eastern ocean, earth for the southern plains, and fire for the western sun. The best part was that once it was cast, the shield drew most of the energy it needed from the elements and directions. All she had to do was feel out the occasional crack it would develop and reseal it.

But this barrier did have its flaws. Willow let out a loud cry and crumpled flat against the hard, frozen cavern floor as the images—no, the memories, returned, harsh and bright. Her own voice, twisted with pain, grief, and monstrous black power, filled her ears. Before her was Warren, bound by unyielding vines, mouth sewn shut, his screams of pain having nowhere to go as the bullet crept through him with agonizing slowness. The stitching removed, and his pleas and screams were released at last to apathetic ears. More pleas, the cries of her friends, but they didn't even have time to beg her to stop before he was dead. His life gone as quickly as the skin had left his body. A flash of flame, and nothing else remained.

The memories pelted more quickly now. Rack, the horrible, almost subhuman slime who dealt his drug-like brand of magic: destroyed as she greedily sucked the magic from his body. Anya: stripped of free will, used for her bidding, and discarded. Buffy: forced to battle her best friend, but beaten down and mocked for her efforts. Giles: almost killed as every ounce of borrowed magic was ripped brutally from his system. The world: almost ended. Xander: almost killed. Hints of the darkness struggling to come back to the surface with every spell she'd cast the year before. But then it skipped ahead. Noëlle lying facedown and unmoving on the short grass of a baseball field. Miko, Dani, Gabriella, and Christine, the blood pooling beneath their bodies shining in the magical starlight she had cast. All of it because of her.

And then it was over. Willow sat back up and brought a shaking hand to her face, realizing as she did so that droplets of cold sweat had beaded all over her skin. The barrier did not defend her mind from attack, and whatever was doing this was taking full advantage of that. She took a few deep breaths to recover from the latest assault, but wondered how much longer she'd be able to just shake it off. One glance beyond the perimeter of her barrier, and her heart plummeted. Now, having just joined the first four dead Slayers that circled her like vultures, were the reanimated bodies of the last four she had failed to save, their eyes now as empty as the others'.

She had no idea how long she'd been down here, as nothing ever happened to indicate passage of time, and she hadn't been wearing a watch when she'd teleported to that alley. She knew it had to have been several days at least, for it felt like a long time since, out of sheer desperation, she'd come up with a way of warping her own magical energy into something digestible so as not to go mad from hunger pains. She'd stayed awake as much as possible, but had no idea how long she'd slept on those occasions when she was simply too exhausted to hold her eyelids open. But this wouldn't keep working forever. It was only a matter of time before she ran out of power and began to starve, or failed to notice the crack that would prove the undoing of her shield.

Oddly, though, in spite of this rather dismal plight, Willow's thoughts were largely elsewhere. She had never been a particularly worldly girl, but the longer she was down here, the more she found herself longing for such things as her bed, her closet full of clothing, her books, not to mention the well-stocked kitchen of headquarters. And there was only so much hygiene-related magic she could do.

All of this, of course, paled in comparison to how much she missed the people she loved. She missed Buffy, how they understood each other so well, and how they still hadn't run out of things to spend hours talking and laughing about after this long of being friends. She missed Xander, his hugs, and his wonderful ability to make her laugh. She'd had that her whole life, and its absence felt horrible. She missed Giles, with his stiff and reserved but affectionate manner. The way he would always be poring through books, drinking tea, and avoiding the noisiest areas of headquarters like the plague. She wondered how many times he had cleaned his glasses in agitation since she had gone. She missed talking to Dawn over the phone, hearing about her life, and telling her what was happening in hers.

And Oz. She missed Oz so much it hurt. She missed the way she never knew what color his hair would be the next time she saw him. She missed the way he could effortlessly pull off nonsensical color combinations in his wardrobe, and make them look good. She missed the way he sometimes wore an earring and his nails were painted black. She missed his music. She missed kissing him, and knowing that nothing in the world made him happier than she did. She missed a million other things about him. Him, and everything else she couldn't have down here.

She knew they wouldn't be able to find her. She had sensed the concealing magic that would block tracing spells, mask scents, and, worst of all, prevent her from teleporting away. She'd tried it when she first woke up, with the result that blood began to trickle down from both of her nostrils and her head had felt like it would explode, but for all her trouble, she hadn't so much as moved a foot. Not for the first time, the awful reality of her situation struck her with its full force, and the tears began to form.

†

The snow falling lightly down on him, Oz dug vigorously through the frozen wads of bloodstained, discarded butcher paper until he finally got to what he was aiming for. There, at last. Fresh scraps. Not even cold yet. He tore hungrily through the chunks of raw beef that the butcher had tossed after taking the selections he wanted. Once he'd eaten his fill, he hopped back out of the dumpster, not caring that his fur was slicked with blood from his meal, though he knew it would become uncomfortable once it froze into brittle, bloody icicles.

He trotted back around the building to duck through the back alleys, keen to avoid a repeat of the incident that had befallen him seven days ago, after he had literally collapsed from the exhaustion of searching for thirty-six hours straight. Beyond tired, and aching with hunger, he had passed by the dumpster of another butcher shop, at which point his digestive system took complete control of his motor functions in response to the enticing smells of meat emanating from it. After scarfing down so much of it that his stomach felt like it might burst, the exhaustion overtook him. The next thing he knew, his ears were full of the sounds of fearful shouting, and he'd leapt back out just in time to avoid the thunderous blast of the butcher's shotgun, which had sent the garbage up in a cloud while giving the terrified and bewildered werewolf time to run for his life. Needless to say, he had kept a fair amount of distance between himself and that first trigger-happy butcher ever since.

His head turned suddenly, catching traces of many different scents. For one second, his heart leapt as he recognized one of them as Willow's, but then he realized where he'd wandered to. He was next to The Sound, one of the last places she had been. The scent was purely residual, and there was barely anything left of it anyway. Beneath the disappointment, Oz had room to be amazed that he'd been able to smell it at all; the snow should have wiped it away by now. But, of course, that was the one scent he'd always been able to detect, no matter how minuscule the trace.

He raised his nose high into the air and drew in a long, slow breath. The cold air bit at his nostrils. Clean snow, dirty snow, tar, rubber, iron, half-rotted garbage, coffee, rats, chalk, urine, tobacco. Most of the smells weren't even pleasant, let alone helpful. His tail drooped down and hid dejectedly between his hind legs as he padded off to search elsewhere.

†

The reanimated Slayers had evidently learned their lesson. Even though the skin on their hands grew back in a matter of minutes, they did not seem keen to repeat the experience, or at least, whatever controlled them had realized the futility of it. They could do nothing but lay passive siege to the protective diamond, as aware as Willow that her strength to maintain it was not infinite. It had been at least an hour since any of them had done more than circle.

In the meantime, Willow had been treated to another theatrical trip down Memories She Wanted to Repress Lane. But she'd had another idea, too. She knew she couldn't escape; she'd accepted that. She couldn't teleport, and she had nowhere near the energy she'd need to keep this many seemingly indestructible zombies at bay. Nor did she believe anyone could get in to retrieve her, for surely they would meet the same fate as Miko's squad if they tried. But she was the only one who knew about any of this, and she wasn't going to waste away in this cave without passing on her knowledge of it.

And so, with the burning determination that comes from settling on a final act, Willow began, as subtly as possible so as not to arouse suspicion, to perform another bit of dangerously complex magic with which she had little experience. She only hoped that the reanimated Slayers would continue to keep their distance from the barrier, as, if this worked, she would soon be unable to monitor it for any cracks or flaws that might develop on its surface.

†

Buffy, Xander, and Giles all sat silently around the same coffee table on the first floor where Giles normally did his research on his own. The chair on the fourth side was very noticeably vacant.

"Did you reach them this time?" Buffy asked quietly.

"Yes," said Giles.

"How'd they take it?" asked Xander.

"Rather better than any of the others, it seemed," he replied. "But then, none of us really reacts to this sort of thing quite the same, do we?"

While Buffy and Xander had been heading up the search for Willow, the awful task of contacting the families of each of the four dead Slayers had fallen to Giles. He had felt like some sort of ghastly pawn of the Angel of Death, telling these perfectly pleasant, average people that their beloved young daughters had died. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat ever again.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, Giles," said Buffy.

"You think I'd rather you'd done it?" he asked. "That burden didn't have to be yours, so I wasn't going to let you bear it. Not on top of everything else. Not when it was the only thing I _could_ do."

"Thank you," she said.

"So," said Xander, leaning forward in his chair, "Where in the 'Mistake on the Lake' do we search this afternoon?"

"Where haven't we already looked?" asked Buffy. "As much as it kills me to admit it, we have _no_ leads. Nine days of searching, and the only thing we're close to is frostbitten."

"Just because something hasn't turned up yet doesn't mean it won't," said Xander stubbornly.

"Yes, but in the meantime," said Giles, feeling his throat constrict so tightly that the next words were almost impossible to get out, "I fear we must...prepare ourselves for the worst. While I do believe that the evil behind this might see Willow as an asset, it may also be that she, with her considerable abilities, was merely proving a hindrance to it; a nuisance it would want to get rid of before making its move."

"Or, you know, it could have been trying the first one, and when that didn't work after a whole lot of scary head trips, moved on to Plan B," said a voice behind them. They all whirled around, Giles and Xander both cricking their necks in the process, but neither caring. There stood Willow, looking exactly the same as when she'd teleported out nine days before, and smiling in mild amusement at these reactions. All three of them leapt up from their chairs and converged on her at the same moment, but, instead of bowling her over in a many-armed hug, they went right through her and fell in a heap on the floor.

"It's the First!" Xander cried in horror as he scrambled back to his feet, "It killed her!"

"Uh, Xander," said Buffy, "the First is kinda defeated, remember?"

Xander looked incredibly confused, but before he could say anything else, Giles had turned back to Willow, awed.

"Astral projection?" he asked.

Willow grinned and nodded. "Nifty, huh? I couldn't teleport, but the barrier was only stopping my _physical_ form from popping in and out. My consciousness can go wherever it pleases," she said smugly.

"So, where's the rest of you, and how do we get you back?" asked Xander. Willow's smile vanished, and she didn't meet his eyes when she replied.

"That's not why I'm here," she said. "Just watch." She then did something she'd only ever seen D'Hoffryn do, but which she had known would be simple compared to the protection diamond and astral projecting. She held her hands in front of her, then drew them slowly apart. In the space between, an image appeared. Buffy, Xander, and Giles all stared intently at it, then flinched in unison. It showed what Willow had seen upon arriving too late to heal Miko and her squad, focusing in turn on each girl lying, very clearly dead, on the ground. Then it switched to the scene in the cave; all four of the dead girls among those prowling around Willow's shield. This got a collective gasp from her audience. Next, she showed the first four reanimated Slayers.

"I know them," said Buffy, as she pointed to each of the three standing beside Noëlle. "That was Julia Heidrich, a Slayer who was killed by Nazi soldiers after she saved their lives," she said as her finger hovered before the short, auburn-haired girl. Of all the Slayers' deaths she'd seen in that dream, Julia's had stood out as the only one for which human beings had been responsible. Buffy doubted whether she'd ever forget the look on Julia's face when she realized that the same men she had saved were the ones pointing machine guns at her and her Watcher.

"And that one was the South African Slayer Willow and I saw get impaled on her own stake by Nyx in the eighties," Buffy continued, "And that last one was Morgan Stromberg, the one who fell in love with her Watcher. I saw her the night my squad fought the Glurggs, but I didn't figure out that it was her until the night Willow disappeared, and then I pretty much had other things on my mind."

"Someone's taking dead Slayers and building a zombie army with them?" asked Xander, appalled.

Giles was so disturbed by that idea that words had utterly failed him. He merely stared in horror at the image until Willow closed it by bringing her hands back together.

"And they used them to kill Miko, Dani, Gabriella, and Christine," said Buffy, feeling the anger boiling inside her.

"Yeah," said Willow.

"Well, they're not getting away with it," said Buffy. "Do you know how to kill these things?"

"No. I didn't get there in time to see what happened to Miko and the others, but these zombie chicks have got to be pretty tough to take out all four of them at once. And I've seen them heal from third degree burns in the space of about five minutes."

"Oh, God. And if there are already eight of them, and with two from as far back as the thirties...," said Buffy, her voice trailing away as the full implication of Willow's evidence barreled into her.

"They could end up reanimating every former Slayer there's ever been," Willow finished. "Kinda makes you miss the übervamps, huh?"

Giles, who was still staring at the place where the image had been, suddenly gasped. "Go back," he said.

"What?" asked Willow, confused.

"To the image of the reanimated Slayers," he clarified.

"Oh. Right," said Willow, and she quickly complied. Once it was there, Giles leaned towards it, squinting hard.

"Is there any way to make that patch a bit bigger?" he asked, indicating something between Noëlle and Julia in the background on the floor.

"Um. Maybe," said Willow. She hesitated uncertainly for a moment, then concentrated on that section. It obligingly stretched to take up the whole image, and Giles drew back in alarm.

"Recognize that, anyone?" he asked grimly.

"It's the Seal of Danshaser," said Buffy, her eyes widening.

"Danthazar, actually," Giles corrected. "This is where you're being held?"

"Yeah," said Willow.

"Looks like we've found the Hellmouth at last," said Xander, "do all of them have those Seal things?"

"Do you have any idea where this is located, Willow?" asked Giles, ignoring Xander.

"Apart from a cave?" she asked sarcastically, before thinking hard. "Well, one time, there was this sort of rumbling sound coming from above me. Kinda like stomping? It was pretty faint, I'm guessing I'm kinda far underground. But it seemed, you know, rhythmic. It went on for I think maybe a couple of hours."

"What do you think it was, some kind of big bad mojo ritual?" asked Xander.

"Maybe," said Willow uncertainly.

"Well, then we can crash the ritual, bust in, destroy the scary Hellmouth activation button of doom, and rescue you! Triple victory!"

"No," said Willow.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" said Buffy. "Of course that's what we do."

"If you try to go down there, do you think those zombie Slayers will just step aside and let you through? They'll kill you just like they killed Miko's squad, and then your body would be their newest recruit. It's too late for me, but you guys are still okay, and you're going to stay that way."

"Too late?" Xander repeated blankly. "What do you—"

"I'm dying, guys," said Willow, smiling feebly as her eyes filled with tears. This was much harder than she'd anticipated.

"What?" asked Buffy, uncomprehending, "But...you're fine!"

"You think I can just keep going forever without food or water or anything? And don't get me started on the below freezing temperatures. Once my magic runs out, it won't be long before it's over," she said, almost angrily. They had to understand this.

"But this, astral projection, it must take up enormous amounts of your energy," said Giles, in a voice that begged her to come to her senses.

"I know," said Willow, "I had to show you what you'd be up against. It was all I could do, and you shouldn't go into it blind." Her face crumpled into the most anguished expression any of them had ever seen, and the tears spilled over to come streaming down her cheeks. "Giles, Buffy, Xander...I love you. _So_ much. And Dawn. Tell her. And please...tell Oz I love him for me."

"No!" said Buffy, her face, like Xander's and Giles', also streaked with tears, "No, Willow, we're not losing you!" She reached out desperately, intending to shake some sense into her, but her hands only went right through again.

"Wil," said Xander, "Please, you can't just—"

"I'm sorry," she said, and to their horror, added a very final-sounding "Goodbye." Then, before they could attempt to argue further, she had vanished.

†

"No." Xander's face was set. He brushed the moisture impatiently from beneath his eye and turned to Buffy and Giles, who were still staring at the place where Willow had just been standing. "I don't care what she said. I'm not letting the girl I've spent my whole life with just die like that. And if I get killed and zombified, then my ghost is coming back to possess Zombie Xander until I get her out of there."

"Do you really think she'd want that?" asked Giles hoarsely.

"Right now I don't really care what she wants. I care about her staying alive."

"I'm coming with you," said Buffy, her fists clenched. "We've fought our way through everything hell could throw at us for the past seven years. We are _not_ letting this take Willow from us now."

"Buffy," said Giles imploringly. No matter how determined they sounded, it seemed like madness.

"You want to sit this one out, fine. If we don't come back, at least someone will be left to lead the others," said Xander. With that, he and Buffy left him standing there, heading for the basement. Buffy lifted the Scythe from its pegs on the wall, and Xander retrieved the flamethrower Liz had left them. Neither speaking, they went back up the stairs. As they went past Giles, his hand shot out to clasp one of Buffy's shoulders. She turned to look at him, but her defiant expression melted when she saw the hard look in his eyes.

"You're going to come back," he told her. She gave a jerky nod, then she and Xander left him standing there, only pausing long enough before leaving the building to put on their coats.

Once outside, they nearly collided with Oz.

"Oz!" said Buffy, caught completely off-guard.

"You're human again," Xander observed. He and Buffy looked the werewolf up and down. The only evidence to indicate how he'd been spending the past nine days were the deep shadows beneath his eyes and the powerful soapy smell of someone who has just taken a very long and thorough shower.

"Uh, yeah. What's with the mid-afternoon arsenal?" he asked. His eyes widened. "Do you know where Willow is?" He took a step closer to them, and it was like he had become a completely different person. Where a second before, he had been calm, sarcastic Oz, now his face radiated the desperation and crippling anxiety he'd barely hidden beneath the surface.

"Um. Not...exactly," said Buffy, frowning. "All we know is that she's underground in a cave—which, by the way, is the very same cave that contains the Hellmouth we came here to destroy—and that there was rhythmic thumping noise that might have been stomping."

"We figure it's some big place that's obscure enough that nobody'd notice a bunch of scary ritual stuff going on there," Xander added.

The scarcely diminished hysteria and near insanity over Willow's disappearance made it much more difficult than usual for Oz to resist bursting out laughing. "Rhythmic stomping?" he said. "That was no ritual. It was a rock concert."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Xander, his tone deeply ironic, "You're saying that the Hellmouth in the city of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame...is under a concert hall?"

"Seems fitting," said Buffy, before snorting, "And also explains why Giles didn't find it. With a few dozen Slayers giving him a constant headache, there was no way he'd go anywhere near a place with even_ more _noise_. _But which one, though?"

"It's gotta be the Agora," said Oz. The prospect of finally being able to get Willow back—not to mention having a rational human conversation again—was making him more and more lucid. "Only one that could get the noise down far enough for her to hear it. Besides, there was a concert there on Friday."

†

They hadn't been searching the premises of the Agora Theater for longer than an hour before they found the tunnel. Its mouth was located in a severe crack in the sewer running under the street adjacent to the building. Buffy hesitated, one foot inside, before turning back to look at Oz.

"You sure you want to go in unarmed? Don't you think this is more a job for the Oz-wolf?" she said uncertainly.

"Things get bad down there, then we'll see," he said. As liberating as it had been to live as the wolf for over a week, it hadn't been doing good things to him as a person. The realization that, in that state, he was losing himself as well as Willow, had been what finally snapped him out of it. What was more, Oz wasn't sure he'd be able to transform even if he tried. He'd never triggered it by sheer force of will before, and had no idea if he'd be able to without working himself back up into a dangerous rage first.

Xander, meanwhile, was mentally berating himself for a spontaneous moment of geekdom so severe it would have put Andrew to shame. As Buffy and Oz disappeared within the tunnel, he stood frozen at the edge of the sewer for a few seconds longer. His thoughts flickered briefly to Renée as he quoted under his breath, "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut." On the last sentence, he unfroze his legs and stepped into the tunnel. He hurried to catch up with the other two, then overtook them, knowing the flamethrower would provide the best avant-garde.

The grade of the tunnel wasn't steep as it spiraled slowly deeper into the earth. Oz was the only one who could see anything at all in the darkness, but the tunnel floor was smooth and Buffy and Xander made their way along by keeping the hands unencumbered by their weapons against the much rougher wall.

Very abruptly, the tunnel gave way to a vast chamber. After the near pitch-blackness they'd just traveled through, the dim torchlight of the chamber seemed about as good as clear, fluorescent lighting. At the opposite end of the chamber from where they stood, they could see several figures moving slowly around in a tight group.

"Willow," Oz muttered under his breath. All three of them moved cautiously forward. Evidently, the quiet sound of their footsteps had carried to the other side of the cavern, for eight pairs of blank white eyes turned to stare in their direction, and then the reanimated Slayers were charging towards them.

"It's good to be back in the field," said Xander. He waited until they were no more than seven yards away before slamming his whole left palm down on the release, and sending an enormous blast of fire straight at them. Though they made no sound, all eight of the zombie Slayers flailed wildly as the fire rapidly consumed their dead flesh. Soon they all fell to the cavern floor, too much of their muscle tissue charred for them to remain upright, and Buffy, Xander, and Oz seized their chance and darted past them. They ran right by the Seal on the floor, their eyes locked on what lay thirty feet beyond it.

"Willow!" they shouted in unison.

†

The astral projection had indeed left Willow very drained. So much so that she could no longer sit upright, and the cracks crisscrossing here and there all over her shield were just too far away for her to fix them... Surely it would only be moments before the reanimated Slayers noticed this and renewed their attempts to breach the barrier. Maybe she would freeze to death before that happened. But then the cavern was suddenly very bright and a wave of glorious warmth washed over her. Willow lifted her head to look at what had caused it, and three people swam through the exhausted haze of her vision as they hurtled towards her. Buffy, Xander, and Oz. But they didn't know about the shield! At the speed they were going, it would incinerate them on contact!

"Air, water, earth, and fire, I bid thee, depart!" she cried frantically. With a loud cracking sound, the already weakened shield vanished entirely. And then they were upon her. Oz pulled her up against him and began to kiss her fiercely. Her tears mingled with his as she kissed him back. Buffy and Xander were there too, and all three of them were hugging her tightly. "You...came," she sobbed, all of the terror she'd hidden before transforming into so much relief and gratitude that she could barely talk around it. "You...came..."

"Of course we came, dummy," said Buffy in a strangled voice. "How could you think for even a second that we'd just sit tight and let you die down here?"

"Seriously, Wil," said Xander, that goofy grin she loved so much spreading across his face.

"Time to move," said Oz, his heightened hearing picking up what the others had missed; they were once again not the only things moving in the cavern. They turned to look back the way they'd come, where the reanimated Slayers were rapidly beginning to regrow everything that had been burned away. Oz scooped Willow up in his arms and she clung to him with the little strength remaining in her, burying her face against his shoulder as he, Buffy, and Xander began to run back. Their zombie opponents still hadn't regenerated sufficiently to pursue them, enabling them to run right between them unhindered.

At the mouth of the tunnel, Xander turned just long enough to send a second jet of flames their way before tearing after the other three. Mere moments later, it seemed, they had scrambled all the way back to the surface, where snow landed on them as Buffy slammed the manhole cover back down behind them. Not about to press their luck, however, they continued to run until they were back in Oz's van, Willow safely between Buffy and Xander on the middle seat as Oz got the motor roaring to life, and they sped off, back in the direction of headquarters.

"What day is it?" Willow wondered vaguely.

"The nineteenth," said Xander.

"Oh," she said, before a weak grin stretched across her face and she turned to Buffy. "Happy birthday."

"It is now," Buffy replied, hugging Willow closely to her.

* * *

Okay, first of all, I actually cried writing the part where Willow told them that she was dying. In other words, I _adore_ this episode. Now for the usual blow-by-blow thing. Buffy breaking down over the phone. There's only so much loss a leader can take before feeling like a failure. Even Buffy has her weak moments. Dawn giving the pep-talk was a nice change. Xander on the roof, and Renée joining him. The roof is pretty much turning into the quiet "away from everything" place. And finally an actual tender moment between him and Renée that didn't get interrupted, even if it didn't happen for romantic reasons. I think it makes their relationship so much more meaningful, and the wordless hand-holding puts me in mind of Buffy and Angel in "Forever", when he comes up to her as she stands by Joyce's grave. Got to see a bit more of the creepy dead Slayers, and are learning that fire works at least a little bit longer than staking or beheading, but still doesn't kill them. Willow's protective shield. So cool. I love the elements/cardinal directions thing. Kinda stole it from _Sabriel_, which is an amazing book, by the way. Willow thinking she was going to die. Wow. Okay, again, there was crying on my part. I love Willow to death, and that was just painful to write. Willow's astral projection. There was that other thing from the phone call in "Shells": Willow astral projecting. Totally valid. Xander and his Andrew-surpassing _Lord of the Rings_ geekdom moment. What else would you say if you were about to go into a horrible scary tunnel, at the end of which waited zombie Slayers? It was _perfect_. And he redeems himself from that by getting his biggest heroic moment of the fic so far by melting the reanimated Slayers temporarily into reanimated Slayer goo with the flamethrower. And the touching reunion. More tears from me with Willow sobbing "you came". And her and Oz's mutually tearful reunion kiss. So much love. Wow. Okay, I think that's all.


	16. 8x17: Story of Your Life

Episode 17: Story of Your Life

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

Friday, February 15, 2004

In retrospect, Buffy decided that her twenty-third birthday had been her best. True, more than half of it had been spent in exhausted anxiety about her missing best friend, which was then turned to horrified disbelief when said best friend incorporeally materialized to inform them all that she was dying... And no presents, since they had all been too preoccupied about Willow to remember. In fact, Buffy herself had only even remembered the significance of the day with Dawn's help. But she didn't count any of that. She counted what came after.

Having Willow back was what made it the best birthday of all. The already beyond exhausted Scooby had nearly been smothered under the incessant hugs piled on her from Renée and the other Slayers, to say nothing of the many from Giles. Upon seeing Buffy, Xander, and Oz reenter headquarters with her, the Watcher had taken complete leave of his dignity and set the whole group off in another round of tear-streaked embraces. Then all five of them spent a couple of hours of the evening conversing happily with Dawn, before Willow was finally able to escape to her room for her first comfortable night's sleep since she'd been captured. Yes, definitely the best birthday ever.

Willow was as much the spirit of the group as she had been when they defeated Adam together almost four years before. With her return, there was an immediate, almost tangible change at headquarters. Despite the new challenge they faced with the reanimated Slayers, everything lightened. Borderline panic retreated as fear was banished to a more manageable distance in the backs of everyone's minds.

Oz's mask of cool, ironic detachment had never come closer to being shattered by a broad grin than during those first few days following Willow's rescue. Much of the time he once would have spent in pensive silence was now devoted to enthusiastically kissing her, and the fact that this was as much her doing as his was a greater source of happiness than the kissing itself.

Xander was so overjoyed that she was safe and whole and Willow that he had forgotten to resume the entirely feigned ignorance of his feelings for Renée. To Buffy and Willow's displeasure, however, he was still balking at any suggestion of her being his girlfriend, even if Renée wasn't particularly bothered by this. She was, in any case, grateful that her dark skin made it difficult to tell when she was blushing, as Buffy and Willow didn't seem to mind if she was present whenever they irritated Xander about the undeclared status of the relationship.

And, even now, at nearly a month after Buffy's birthday and Willow's safe return, Giles still had yet to give anyone his "this is giving me a migraine" look, which he had used approximately every thirty-eight minutes beforehand. Instead, he had gotten word to Andrew and Kennedy of the new, heightened situation, and as a result, the Summers' Academy for Girls had more inhabitants than ever.

However, there was a certain bittersweetness to the triumph. Once Willow had fully recovered from the ordeal, which had taken a few days, Giles called Angel back. To his, Buffy's, and Willow's dismay, the vampire informed him in a rather broken voice that even magic as powerful as Willow's could not bring Fred back. Nothing could. Giles then asked if they could at least be of assistance regarding the Old One now inhabiting Fred's body, but Angel dismissed the offer. He was wary of what Illyria might do if they brought in reinforcements to deal with her, and Wesley seemed to be succeeding in keeping the former god-king from being a serious threat. At least for the moment. In the end, he thanked Giles for wanting to help, and was sincerely glad that Willow was okay, but there was really nothing more that could be said.

As far as the situation they now had on their hands went, even though none of them knew how to kill the reanimated Slayers, Xander's performance with Liz's flamethrower had provided them at least with a knowledge of how to effectively keep them at bay. More importantly, thanks to the combined reverse-engineering skills of Oz and Cole, every squad was now equipped with one (though, in learning to use hers, Rona had very nearly set the training room on fire, causing Sarah to be the designated flamethrower-wielder of their squad instead). They also had strict instructions, if they encountered one of the zombie Slayers, to, in Buffy's words, burn them into scorch marks and run like hell before they could heal and look for revenge.

But, of course, that didn't mean it could always be so straightforward.

†

"Are you sure?" asked Dawn, horrified.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "It was Kendra."

"What was that like?"

"A big kick in the gut—only, not literally, since I torched her before she could get close enough for that and then ran. Have I ever mentioned how much I _hate_ running?"

"Still don't know how to kill them, huh?"

"No such luck. We are going to try going down to the cave again for reconnaissance on Saturday, though. See if we can't do something about that Seal."

"But isn't that like zombie Slayer central?"

"Yes, but it's only gonna get more crowded down there over time, so putting it off any longer wouldn't help. Anyway, enough of the doom'n'gloom talk. What did you and the oh-so-perfect Connor Reilly do for Valentine's Day?" Also included in the warm afterglow of Willow's return was that Buffy found vicarious romance to be far less irksome than she had at the beginning of January—though, of course, it couldn't be much longer before that wore off and she was back to eating sinful amounts of ice cream and struggling to remain happy for everyone around her as they continued to get what she still could not have.

"We went to see _Peter Pan_," said Dawn.

"Ooh, how was that?" asked Buffy.

"Kind of weird," she replied with a slight frown, "There was some really good background music and overall the movie was fun, I guess. Anyway, then we went ice skating, which was awesome because Connor played hockey in high school, so he's really good at it, and I'm still okay even though I haven't skated for a while. And he got me a really squishy red teddy bear."

"What did you get him?"

"Oh, it's totally cool, and not a cliché," said Dawn proudly. "Okay, so, I got a picture of us from Christmas and had this artist guy do caricatures from it. Connor laughed really hard when he saw it. Score!"

Buffy snorted with laughter.

†

Dawn's euphoria from a mostly well-spent Valentine's Day with Connor did not long survive the next day at school. Her first three classes were spent discreetly studying for the physics test that had completely and understandably slipped her mind until that morning. The test itself wasn't quite the death incarnate she had expected, but she had a very strong feeling that it wasn't going to help her grade in the class. After lunch, she headed off to Intro to Law; a class she thoroughly despised and was only taking because it had been one of the very few electives that hadn't been full by the time she'd registered for school.

"Now, class, today we have a guest speaker," said Mr. Slovak, indicating the unfamiliar woman sitting by the overhead projector, who stood at his words. Dawn and her classmates sat a little straighter in their chairs; the prospect of something other than the standard droning lecture catching their interest at once, as it was an entirely unprecedented occurrence under this teacher. "I would like to introduce you all to Miss Branston, one of the esteemed attorneys of the San Francisco branch of Wolfram and Hart." While everyone else clapped politely in welcome, Dawn's stomach squirmed and her hands clenched around the corners of her desk as she scrutinized the counselor. She was tall, thin, and sharply dressed. Dawn was sure she wasn't imagining it, for though her face was rather pretty, there was something hard about the light in her eyes that made her seem unfriendly.

"Thank you, Mr. Slovak, for the introduction," she said. Her voice matched her appearance; crisp and clear. "As I'm sure many of you know, the firm I work for is rather expansive. We have branches as far spread as Rome and Tokyo, with highly qualified attorneys such as myself satisfying clients worldwide." Dawn unintentionally let out a derisive snort, which she then hastily attempted to pass off as a hacking cough, with little success. Kaida Griffith, a girl who sat next to Dawn but had never spoken to her (or anyone else, as far as Dawn knew), snickered. Mr. Slovak leveled them both an icy glare. Miss Branston, on the other and, merely seemed intrigued. "You wished to comment, Miss...?" The whole class was staring at Dawn, whose resolve hardened even as she blushed under the sudden spotlight. She wasn't going to back down.

"Dawn Summers," she said without hesitation. Recognition, followed by something disturbingly like greed, flashed through the attorney's eyes, but it happened so fast that Dawn wasn't sure she'd really seen it.

"Are any of our clients among your acquaintances?" she asked pleasantly.

"No," said Dawn, hoping to intimidate her with what she would say next, "but I've known the guy who runs the Los Angeles branch since I was ten." She knew she hadn't imagined it this time. Fear flashed first across those eyes, before that greedy gleam overpowered it. Miss Branston reached up to readjust her black-rimmed glasses, then continued the presentation without so much as glancing at her for the rest of the class. Likewise, Dawn kept her opinions to herself for the remainder of the presentation, though it was difficult.

As Dawn walked rather hastily out of the class almost before the bell had even rung, she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Hey." It was Connor. The giddiness that had been banished from Dawn's mind by the disastrous physics test returned so quickly that even Miss Branston was drop-kicked from her thoughts. But then she frowned as logic caught up with her emotions. He didn't usually call during the school day.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Um. I kinda got hit by a van this morning," he said, sounding dazed. Almost immediately, Dawn began to panic, as horrible images of Connor getting plowed over and lying in a broken heap attacked her brain in spite of his relatively calm tone.

"What? Are you okay? What happened?" she asked, her voice rather shriller than usual.

"No, nothing, I'm fine, Dawn," he assured her hastily.

"Oh," she said, wilting slightly from the relief that made her weak.

"Yeah, It was kinda crazy. My parents are freaking. I just thought I'd call... I overheard Dad on the phone with the cops, and it sounds like they want to take me to some law firm place, probably to question me about the van and what I can remember and stuff. Then they told me we were going there to set up a trust, but I can tell it's just a cover."

"A law firm?" asked Dawn apprehensively, seeing Miss Branston in her head. She didn't like this. "What law firm? It wasn't called Wolfram and Hart, was it?"

"Yeah, that's the one," he said indifferently.

What was she supposed to do? She couldn't tell him it was evil. Dawn thought quickly, and an at least passable solution came to her. "Oh, okay," she said as casually as she could. "Yeah, they're really good. Just, make sure it's the Los Angeles branch you go to." Whatever this was about, she would feel much better at the prospect of Connor and his family going where Angel could monitor the proceedings instead of people like the guest speaker.

"I think that's what Dad said. And I'm home in L.A. for the weekend anyway. So, you know, logic." Dawn sighed, relieved again. She heard another voice in the background, then Connor responding. "Oh, hey, I've gotta go. We're about to head over there now."

"Okay," said Dawn, "When are you coming back up here?"

"Not sure. I've got some big stuff to study before Monday, so I don't think I'll stay the whole weekend in L.A. I'll see you soon."

"Bye." He returned the farewell, and Dawn snapped her phone closed. She realized with a little jolt upon reading the numbers on its front screen that she had almost no time left to get to her next class, which was halfway across the campus, and she took off at a jog.

†

Buffy crept cautiously down the tunnel that led to the cave beneath the Agora Theater with Giles, Willow, Oz, Xander, and Renée all in tow, three of them wielding flamethrowers. With the exception of Oz, they were all using some of Willow's night vision powder, and consequently, even with the very dim lighting, they had no trouble with visibility.

"Anybody home?" asked Buffy when they reached the cave and found it empty. The place offered no response. Buffy shrugged and looked at her companions. "Makes our job easier, I guess."

"Let's not dawdle, though," said Giles.

"Right," she agreed. The group approached the middle of the cavern, stopping just short of the Seal on the floor. Renée crouched down in front of it, flipped her large drawing pad to a blank page, and began to sketch it, while Buffy, Xander, and Oz held the flamethrowers ready, peering carefully around the perimeter of the cave. The sounds of Renée's pencil scratching against the paper filled the silence for several minutes.

"That's odd," said Giles, looking down at the Seal.

"What?" asked Buffy, not taking her eyes off a corner so deeply cloaked in shadows that even the night vision powder had not illuminated it fully.

"The Seal," said Giles. "It's tarnished and cracked. Things like this, no matter how ancient, typically show no signs of wear." Willow frowned at the Seal as well, and cautiously reached out with her mind towards it. If it wasn't for this, she wouldn't have come. She'd had absolutely no desire to return to the place that had been her dungeon—more importantly, the place she'd thought would be her tomb. But she wasn't trapped and she was surrounded by the people she cared about this time. No worries. No worries... She hadn't been concentrating on the Seal for long before her frown became more pronounced.

"I can't feel any power around it," she said. "It's like it's not even there."

"You sure that's not just another one of those concealing spells?" asked Buffy.

"No, I'd be able to sense one of those, if I knew it was there," said Willow. "And I don't think a concealment spell powerful enough to mask one of these things even exists. I mean, I could feel the one in Sunnydale from all the way in Westbury!" She shuddered, not particularly fond of that memory.

"So, what, it's dead?" asked Oz.

"Would also help explain why it's been hard to find," said Buffy. Her eyes narrowed. "Renée, how's that drawing coming?" she asked. They could have just used Willow's nifty little magical image projection trick, but it was always helpful to have a tangible representation that could be passed around and examined.

"Almost...done," she said, flipping the sketchbook closed and standing back up.

"Good, 'cause we've got company." Xander and Oz turned to point their flamethrowers towards where Buffy was looking. That dark corner evidently contained the entrance to another tunnel, for, from it, Slayer after reanimated Slayer began to emerge. Kendra was at the head of the group, which included the eight who had prowled around Willow's shield and continued to swell in numbers the longer they watched.

Buffy's lip curled. She hated the thing responsible for this with everything in her. Did respect for the dead have no meaning anymore? Six of those lifeless bodies had belonged to her friends, girls with whom she had trained and fought alongside, and the rest to Slayers who had come before. Some she had seen in her dreams, lived flashes of their lives during her sleep more times than she could count—or watched them during her encounters with the tiger guide. They had not given their lives to be used and violated in death, to be the puppets of some destructive evil! The indignity Buffy felt on their behalf made her blood boil.

"Go!" she shouted over her shoulder as she, Xander, and Oz let loose blasts of fire at the slowly advancing horde. Willow, Giles, and Renée didn't need telling twice, and promptly hurried back to the tunnel from which they had come. The other three followed a moment later, after first maintaining the flames until satisfied that they would all have long enough to get back to the surface before the zombie Slayers were in any condition to pursue them.

†

"So, looks like the Hellmouth cave has a bonus room," said Xander. "Fun." They had gone straight back to headquarters, and were now standing around the table where Renée had spread her drawing.

"Maybe that's where the puppet master is hiding," said Oz.

"Probably, but I don't think there's any way we can get in there through that many reanimated Slayers," said Buffy.

"Yeah," said Willow seriously, "Because using flamethrowers that much in a cave will burn up all the oxygen before long." Buffy frowned at her.

"Actually, I just meant that that's the room they all came from, so they must be guarding something in there. Whereas the Seal was just out in the open," she clarified.

"Oh," said Willow, before becoming slightly defensive, "But it's true, though, about the oxygen and the flamethrowers. We're gonna have to breathe when we go down there." Oz smirked and slipped a hand into hers.

"Buffy brings up another valid point," said Giles. "If the Seal was left unguarded with so many former Slayers available for the job, it might really be dead. And I'm not sure what that means for the Hellmouth, actually." His brow creased.

"So the one in Sunnydale didnae have these cracks and blotches all over it?" asked Renée, who was currently adding unnecessary touches to her sketch of the Seal, and had missed most of both this conversation and the one in the cave as she concentrated on the drawing.

"No," said Buffy, "And it would open and let out these scary übervamps, and there was a huge cave beneath it."

"Yeah," said Willow, "It was pretty much the trapdoor of the Hellmouth."

"What's an übervamp?" asked Renée.

"The proper term is Turok-Han," said Giles, "Far stronger than ordinary vampires, but not especially bright creatures."

"Think Orcs with super-strength," said Xander.

Renée grimaced.

"Hey, whoa," he said, moving around to stand behind her.

"What?" she asked, now finding it difficult to concentrate because of how close he had leaned towards her as he examined the picture.

"This is so awesome!" he pronounced, for even he could appreciate the shading and realistic metallic texture of the drawing. "Do you draw other stuff too?" Here again was an occasion where Renée was devoutly thankful that her blush was hidden by her dark skin.

"Aye, sometimes," she said.

"Like comics?" Xander pressed.

"Er...I probably could." Despite the number of comic books Renée had read in her life, the idea of drawing her own had never really occurred to her, and suddenly it seemed like the most brilliant idea there was. Which probably had a great deal to do with the fact that the man she was head over heels for had come up with it.

"Cool!" said Xander, becoming very animated in his enthusiasm. "We could work together to make a comic book to commemorate all the crazy adventures we've all had! I'll fill you in on what happened before you came into the game. Goodbye Watcher diaries, hello panel-by-panel, two-dimensional action!" Giles gave him a rather stern look at this flippant disregard of the incredible legacy the Watcher diaries represented.

"Ooh, could I help?" asked Willow.

"A comic book about us?" said Buffy, a vague grin spreading across her face.

"Huh. It's intriguing. Still, it would kinda make the farce that is our lives pretty much literal," Oz pointed out.

"Yes, but then at least it would be a _marketable_ farce," said Xander.

"Very true," Oz conceded.

Though not entirely immune from the appeal of Xander's idea, Giles cleared his throat loudly. "Perhaps we could save the foray into such a project until after we've dealt with the situation at hand?"

†

Dawn finished her conversation with Buffy and put the phone down. She looked out the window just in time to see the last sliver of the sun as it sank beneath the horizon. She hadn't told her sister about the Wolfram and Hart lawyer, nor about Connor getting hit by a van. As much time as she'd wasted trying to convince Buffy to let her come to Ohio, she was finding more and more that she didn't want to leave Palo Alto. Even though the abnormal aspects of her past couple of days didn't compare in the slightest with the happenings of Cleveland, she doubted it would take much to convince Buffy that she'd simply be safer where she could actually keep an eye on her.

So, for lack of anything better to say without those more exciting details, Dawn had simply fretted about the physics test before letting Buffy tell her about the expedition to the cave and how Renée and Xander were going to start a comic book about all of them. That last topic had predictably taken up most of the conversation, as Dawn was just as keen on the subject as the rest of the Scoobies.

With a sigh, Dawn flopped back on her bed and listened to the silence of the house. It was Saturday night and the only thing she'd had planned was that phone conversation. The Quinns had gone to visit their cousins in L.A. for the weekend, but Dawn had decided not to accompany them (despite Isabelle's nearly incessant begging). She almost wished she'd gone, though, as she was quickly becoming bored out of her mind. Her thoughts wandered...and she soon found herself glaring at the ceiling. Giles and Xander had gone down to the cave with Buffy, and they were just normal people like Dawn. But here she was with a creepy lawyer guest speaker and a boyfriend who'd survived getting hit by a van as the most unusual things that had recently occurred in her life.

Dawn sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She walked to the closet and dug through the mess within until she retrieved her old bag. Reaching inside, she withdrew a stake from the very bottom, then tucked it into her other bag, slung it across her shoulder, and left the room. No strict Mrs. Quinn to pester her about where she was headed. No Isabelle to distract her with movies or homework or conversations about their respective boyfriends. No Buffy to hide her away in a protective box of good intentions.

_Look out, creatures of the night; here comes Dawn Summers_, she thought with a smirk. The reasonable part of her mind trying to convince her to turn around and go back to the house was reduced to making knots in her stomach, as that was all it could do against the long restlessness borne of being twenty-four hundred miles removed from the action. That and a sudden, burning need to prove to herself that she could still handle it; that she hadn't become just another boring average girl with a boring average life. Besides, it wasn't like she was off to vandalize a park or something; she was going to kill vampires, which would save who knew how many lives in the long run. There was nothing wrong with that.

†

By the time Dawn had wandered over to the Stanford campus, the sky was really getting dark. Though she was convinced that she'd be able to find at least one vampire in this town, she wasn't exactly sure where to look, so this seemed as good a place to start as any. She felt very self-conscious walking around on a college campus by herself. There were still quite a few students milling around here and there, and she did her best to blend in rather than acting as nervous and twitchy as she felt. The shadows were deepening much more quickly now; lamp posts casting a yellow-orange glow over the sidewalks she traveled. Her recklessness had about met its end. Soon, the persistent reasonable voice in her mind would be strong enough to turn her around and send her back to the Quinns' house.

But not soon enough. In the much darker gap between two multistoried buildings, a pair of shadowy figures lurked. Dawn pulled the stake from her bag as inconspicuously as possible, at the same time wrinkling her nose at the very powerful smell of cigarette smoke the pair was giving off.

"Well, lookie there, Jenkins, d'ye reckon that's one of them Slayers?" asked the nearer of the two, intentionally speaking loudly enough for her to hear. She stiffened and tried to remember all of her previous encounters with vampires. She was still here while all of those vampires were dust, and these two were about to join them. Okay, so Buffy had been responsible for most of that dusting... An unwanted note of panic disrupted her already wobbly confidence at that intrusive final thought.

"That she might be, Finch; that's a stake she's got, and she ain't running," said Jenkins.

"Only one way to find out, then, eh?" Even in the dim light, Dawn could see the gleam of their fangs as their faces cracked into malicious grins. She raised the stake as they prowled forward, trying to keep her breathing even and her expression cool and confident. All the same, the hand clutching the stake shook slightly.

"You guys just waiting for some student to come along for you to snack on?" she asked, pleased at how offhand she sounded. Maybe quipping in the face of danger was genetic.

"Nah, we're pretty much done waiting now," said Finch, while Jenkins licked his lips. Dawn kicked out as hard as she could, and the latter doubled over as her foot slammed into his crotch. Finch howled with laughter as Jenkins swore violently through his teeth, but Dawn didn't waste her advantage. The mirth died from Finch's face as Dawn's stake sank between his ribs, and he crumbled to dust. By the time his ashes floated to the ground, Jenkins had recovered.

"Thanks for taking out the competition. And, you know something? I don't think you're a Slayer after all," he said in a growl, before one of his hands closed around her throat and the other on the hand in which she was still grasping the stake. Panic flooded through her and she struggled violently, but she simply didn't have the strength to break that grip. Even as she let out a piercing scream, she remembered that the area around the buildings had been deserted before she walked between them. The stake clattered to the ground but she continued to writhe madly, desperate to free herself from his clutches.

Just before his fangs reached her neck, her left hand found his long greasy hair, and she yanked at it hard enough that several tufts parted company with his scalp. He let out a roar of pain and rage, but his grip loosened. Dawn broke away, dropping to the pavement in search of the stake, but it was too dark to see. Her hands were still scrabbling around for it when she was jerked up by the back of her jacket and thrown through the air. She hit the side of one of the buildings and crumpled back to the ground in a heap, her head swimming crazily and the entire right side of her body aching from the impact.

She had barely gotten back to her feet when Jenkins' hands clamped down on her upper arms, immobilizing them against her sides as he pulled her back up and slammed her hard against the wall. Somehow, she managed to retain consciousness through the experience, but for the second time, his fangs were approaching her neck. She screamed and struggled, but he knew what to expect this time, and freeing herself was impossible.

"_DAWN!_" A split second after Dawn heard the familiar voice shout her name, Jenkins had been knocked away from her so hard that he flew three yards, then skidded a couple more once he hit the pavement.

"Connor! What?" she said, completely bewildered. Connor wasn't looking at her; he was already advancing again on the vampire. Halfway toward him, he bent down and scooped up the stake from the ground without even looking at it. Jenkins got back to his feet with a snarl.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat.

"Actually, can I get back to you on that?" Connor asked. The vampire swung his fist at him, but Connor ducked it easily, caught it before he could draw back, and flipped him over to the ground with bone-crushing force. Jenkins didn't even have the chance to get up again; Connor immediately seized him by the front of his shirt and threw him against the wall before he could move a finger to stop him. He slid down with a grunt, a little blood dribbling from his mouth, until Connor finally plunged the stake into his chest, leaving nothing but dust. Dawn watched the scene in complete shock, and now stared, wide-eyed, at Connor.

"How...did you do that?" she asked. He didn't answer, but in the space of time it took her to blink, he had closed the five yard distance between them and pulled her into an embrace so tight it almost hurt.

"Are you okay?" he said into her hair. She could feel him breathing heavily against her, and all of his muscles were still coiled tight from the fight with Jenkins.

"I'm fine," she said, finally remembering her motor functions enough to hug him back.

†

Dawn blinked and looked around in puzzlement. The hug had been broken off after just a few seconds, and then Connor had simply vanished from her sight. "What the...?" she she. Her brow creased in utter confusion. But then there was a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, and her head jerked upward just in time for her to see Connor disappearing over the top of the building to her left. She frowned. Things just kept making less sense. As she started towards the ladder on the side of the building, she winced slightly, but bore it grimly and began to climb anyway. About a minute later, she finally arrived at the roof of the building. Connor was standing on the opposite side, looking out over the city, his fists clenched at his sides. She walked up to him, holding her left hand over her throbbing right elbow, panting from the climb.

"You're messing with the natural order of things here, you know," she said jokingly. "When a guy likes a girl, he's supposed to show off and stuff, especially when he's apparently got kind of a lot to show off—not climb the side of a building as easy as walking to escape before she can thank him for saving her life."

He turned his head halfway towards her as if he was going to look at her, but then stopped and turned back. "Yeah, well," he said stiffly, "that only works if all of that so-called stuff to show off doesn't make his whole life a lie."

"What do you mean?" she asked, walking closer to him and then stretching a hand out to touch his shoulder.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, abruptly turning to look her straight in the eyes. He wore a darkened expression she had never seen on him before, and it was like a storm was brewing within his blue irises.

"I really doubt that," she said. "You have no idea how not normal my life was before I came here." His expression didn't change, so she tried a slightly modified approach. "How come you never told me you knew about vampires?"

"I didn't exactly know I knew before today," he said, shrugging. Then he frowned. "But I guess you did."

"Yeah," she said. "And that's just the tip of the whole freaky iceberg. So; you say I wouldn't believe whatever crazy stuff has happened to you, I say try me."

"How long do you have?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The Quinns are gone for the whole weekend," she said, smirking.

Connor sighed in defeat. "Okay."

†

It was now well past midnight, and the two of them sat with their backs to the building's chimney; Connor's right arm around Dawn, her head resting on his shoulder, and their hands entwined in a pile over her stomach. Both were rather stunned at the long, revealing conversation they'd had, but also felt much closer and more relaxed for having gotten it all into the open. Now, they merely sat quietly like that, trying to let it all sink in.

"Well, that was a fun soul-baring chat," said Dawn finally.

"Yep," said Connor. More silence. "Pretty sure I could get you a ticket to Cleveland, if you'd rather be there," he said eventually, "Or I could just, you know, bypass that and get you a lift on that private jet my...my dad—Angel—has." He grimaced. Talk about information overload. A whole life, as different as it could possibly be from the one he thought he'd known, shoved back in his head in an instant.

"Still trying to wrap my head around that one," said Dawn, making a face. "I'm the girlfriend of the son of the love of my sister's life."

Connor snorted. "So, I guess that'd make her the one who sent him to hell for a hundred years?" he asked.

"How do you know about that?"

"He mentioned it when he kicked me out of the hotel, after he got back from when I sunk him to the bottom of the ocean for a summer," Connor replied, his voice growing a bit weary by the end of the sentence.

"If anyone's got reason to blame stuff on their childhood, it's you," said Dawn fairly. "And hey, at least you _had_ a real childhood, even if it was in scary badness hell dimension. My childhood didn't even happen."

"Kinda how I feel right now."

"Hmm. But I definitely win," she said decisively.

"How do you figure?" he asked.

"Well, let's see," said Dawn, "Son of two vampires born just over two years ago, raised in hell and mysteriously nineteen already; ancient ball of mystical green universe-destroying energy turned human. Yeah, I win."

He chuckled.

"Though I've gotta say, you're taking the whole mind-blowing revelation thing way better than I did."

"Why, what did you do?" he asked.

"Yelled at everyone a lot, nearly got kicked out of school, burned all of my diaries, and cut myself. Oh, and became a klepto. Can't forget that," she said dully. "It was hard."

"At least you've still only got one set of memories," said Connor, grimacing. "Kinda redefines the concept of an identity crisis, you know?"

"This is insane," said Dawn.

"Which part?" asked Connor dryly.

"All of it. I mean, just think; we've got to be the two most impossible people in existence, but here we are, together." It frankly terrified her to think about all of the events that had needed to align to put them on that rooftop in each other's arms. If any one of those factors had gone differently...

"I dunno," he said, his voice a welcome distraction from her musings, "it makes it seem kinda fated to me."

Dawn smiled. A comfortable silence settled in for a while as they just gazed out across the city. "Are you going to tell your parents?" she asked after a while.

"No," he said. He paused, unsure how to verbalize the reason. "If I told them...then they'd know, and I wouldn't be theirs anymore. They'd still remember me and my life as their son, but they might doubt it. If they did, even for a second, then I think the kid who was raised in Quor-Toth would win."

"I was the last one to find out the truth," said Dawn. "Mom, Buffy, Giles...everyone already knew before me. When I found out and lost it, it was for the same reason. I thought I was just a thing, not a person who mattered to anyone. Buffy wasn't my sister; she was the Slayer who had to protect the Key. But I was wrong. I was everything to her. She died to save me. Not because I was the Key, but because I was me: Dawn. A person. Her baby sister. That's why she left me here, too; to keep me safe, and I almost blew it tonight." She paused, allowing time to kick herself mentally for that selfish recklessness, before finally getting to her point. "That's why I think if you told your parents, it would be okay."

"You're a pretty incredible girl, you know that?" asked Connor, smiling. In response, Dawn snuggled a little closer to him.

"So, we're okay, right?" she asked tentatively. She needed to know. They'd just trusted each other with their deepest secrets, and she needed to know if that meant as much to him as it did to her.

"We're okay," he said. He reached his left hand up to the side of her face, and she turned to look into his eyes. They stayed that way for a few seconds, before he leaned in to kiss her. It went on and deepened, both of them wrapping their arms tightly around each other, until they inevitably had to come up for air. At which point, Dawn immediately gave a huge yawn, and Connor burst out laughing.

"Gee, way to shatter a guy's confidence," he said. Dawn giggled.

"No, it's not you," she said, giving him another kiss to prove it. "It's just, this sneaking out at night and surviving mortal peril stuff is a lot more exhausting when you're out of practice."

"Want me to walk you home?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. At his use of the word "home," she realized that it was true. She _was_ home here, with her friends, school, and Connor. Especially Connor. And those calls she got from Buffy a couple times a week—yes, sometimes they were hard, sometimes they caused the green monster of jealousy to rear its ugly head within her, but they were enough. The knowledge that she'd actually see her sister face to face again made it enough. So this could be home, for now.

* * *

Right then, I'm fairly certain I promised a while back that Dawn was going to get larger chunks of story devoted to her at some point, and here we've finally come to it. Even though I've been planning this from the beginning (because I'm an evil mastermind like that), I was a little worried that a more Dawn-centric episode would be a bit of a dud. However, I am thoroughly delighted with how this turned out, and hope you feel the same. Obviously it is concurrent specifically with "Origin". Kendra has joined the ranks of the reanimated Slayers! For, lo, not even the canonical dead Slayers are safe! That probably could have done with a bit more attention, but we obviously haven't seen the last of these girls anyway, so, what the heck. Wolfram and Hart: San Francisco. I'm not going to bother going back through the episodes of _Angel_ season five looking for the part where someone says that W&H has branches in about every major city in the world. Just trust me. It's valid. The Scoobies thinking the Seal is dead. Make what you will of that for now, as you'll find no spoilers here. Dawn's reckless quest to seek danger. Because she simply wouldn't be Dawn if that didn't happen at least once a season. She's got a lot of maturing to do yet before she outgrows that. Connor to the rescue! If you'll remember, he does live on campus, so finding her just in the nick of time is actually somewhat plausible. And, _finally_, he has his memories back. Which of course means we get a bit of residual _Angel_ season four-esque Connor angst. I adore the Dawn/Connor rooftop scene almost more than I can describe. Oh, and I managed to bury yet another _Lord of the Rings_ reference in this episode. Bonus points.


	17. 8x18: Skeleton Key

Episode 18: Skeleton Key

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

and

Rachel Hurd-Wood as Nyx

†

Thursday, March 11, 2004

"Four and a half years now." Miss Branston's voice rang out across the conference room, where a dozen of her coworkers at Wolfram and Hart, including Walter Roarke, her branch's CEO, sat around a table, listening with varying degrees of attentiveness. "That's how long this branch has been scraping to satisfy clients while the lion's share went to Los Angeles. We managed. Learned to adapt. It is helpful, overall, that here in San Francisco, we lack the principle shortcoming of our neighbor branch: regular mass staff deaths."

At this, a few around the table chuckled nastily. The towering mortality rate of the Los Angeles branch was a widely-spread source of sadistic pleasure among the staff of other branches. Still, this didn't disperse the equally universal resentment at the unbalanced resource distribution. With all of this very much in mind, Miss Branston allowed the chuckling to die out before continuing. "But the scales tipped even further last May. All of the branches felt it. Budgets slashed dramatically, the best and brightest employees transferred, mystical resources down to a trickle, lower commissions—all to accommodate the situation in Los Angeles."

As expected, her words were now met with low muttering. She had them exactly where she wanted them, and suppressed a smirk. Overt arrogance would not be the way to execute this plan. She pushed her glasses farther up on her nose, cleared her throat a little, and at last broached the subject of what she'd been researching and planning for since her visit to Mr. Slovak's Intro to Law class as guest speaker. "On that note, something has recently come to my attention that could effectively make the Los Angeles branch obsolete in the eyes of the Senior Partners, and put San Francisco squarely at the head of this firm."

Every single one of the people around the table sat up straighter, even if more than half looked deeply skeptical. She shot a quick glance at the Armani suit clad man sitting at the opposite end of the long table with his fingers steepled in front of him. He gave a short nod, exactly the green light she needed. "With this, we could practically hand them their Apocalypse, cutting out almost all of the expense."

"Almost all? Then what would be the remaining expense, Miss Branston?" said another lawyer, one of her fiercest competitors whenever time came for promotions. Mr. Roarke eyed him thoughtfully, and Miss Branston felt a twinge of anxiety. She couldn't let that idiot get her boss against her on this.

"How much does it cost to remove one child from the care of a surrogate family?" she asked. "Like the rest of you, I was briefed on the history of the supernatural in this state, and a great deal of it always centered around Sunnydale."

"Well, it _was_ on a Hellmouth," said another coworker with a bite of disdain.

"And what does this have to do with, ah, _relocating_ a child?"

"After Sunnydale and its Hellmouth were destroyed, the Slayer and all of her associates left the state, with their new accommodations provided, coincidentally, by the Los Angeles branch. However, one of them stayed." With that, she tapped the remote on the table, and a larger-than-life picture of Dawn Summers lit up the screen behind her. "The sister. No doubt left behind for her own protection. Now, imagine if you will how invaluable this girl would be to the Senior Partners." She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. Mr. Roarke smiled approvingly. "We'll see how highly they favor L.A. after we hand them the Key."

†

Oz finished the complex solo to a round of cheers from everyone on the dance floor, and Lorin stepped up to the microphone for the second verse of the song as Alex and Cole cranked the drums and bass back up. Continuing to strum, but past the difficult chords his solo had involved, Oz looked out into the crowd. He could see Xander and Renée laughing and dancing in its midst, both of them apparently unconcerned about how comical their moves looked. A little further back, Sam had spread her research materials for her senior thesis across an entire table, but her concentration was rather fragmented by the frequent glances she shot up at Lorin, who sang that much more enthusiastically as a result. Back against the wall, Buffy, Willow, and Giles sat around a table, the former two sharing a plate of cheesy fries while the latter cautiously sipped at the barely passable tea the club served. Willow turned to look at the stage, saw Oz looking at her, and flashed her dazzling smile at him. He smiled back, his eyes twinkling.

"You know, Giles," said Buffy after swallowing the latest cheesy fry, "Even after everything we've been through, I'm still not used to seeing you at a club."

The Watcher chose to ignore this.

"Well, yeah," Willow replied a little distractedly, her gaze and most of her mind still focused on the guitarist, "but you missed out on the time when we found him at one with his guitar." She ended on a slight sigh, and Buffy gaped at her. Willow realized a second too late what she'd said as well as how and in whose company she'd said it. Her eyes went wide and she shot Giles a mortified glance before hastily looking away again. The heat now exploding across her face quickly had the skin there almost matching her hair.

"What are you talking about?" Xander asked Willow as the song ended and he and Renée joined them. "I still have nightmares about that."

"Yes, thank you," said Giles flatly, feeling very uncomfortable. "I believe I can safely assure you that this will be my last venture into such a place for the foreseeable future. Happy?"

Renée snorted.

"Poor Giles," said Buffy in tones of exaggerated sympathy. "Whatever happened to that wacky old 'respect your elders' idea?"

"What, indeed," he muttered.

At that point, Oz came up beside Willow, as the band was now on break. "Looks like things got interesting over here," he said lightly, looking from a still very pink-faced Willow to a put-off Giles to the highly amused grins sported by Buffy, Xander, and Renée.

"Hardly," said Giles.

"Hey," said Willow, turning to Oz, grateful for the distraction.

"Hey," he replied, smiling again and leaning towards her to brush his lips against hers. Though he'd intended it to end there, that evidently wasn't going to happen. His hands came up to the back of her neck and hers combed through his spiky hair and they were lost in each other. Buffy moved the plate to where Renée could easily reach, and they both pretended to be intensely interested in the cheesy fries. Giles cleared his throat loudly, but Willow and Oz paid him no attention.

"Hey," said Xander, "can you guys take it to another room or, you know, at least move over to my blind side?" At this, they reluctantly broke apart at last. Renée suppressed a giggle at Xander's words.

Just then, music much slower than anything Illogical Stop Sign ever played began to filter towards them from the speakers. "Dance with me?" Oz asked. Willow exchanged a smile with Buffy before taking his hand and letting him lead her away from the table.

"Well, sounds like a good plan to me," said Xander, turning to Renée and holding up a hand. "May I have this dance, milady?" This time she couldn't stop the giggle coming out, and the two of them followed Willow and Oz back to the dance floor.

Buffy let out a sigh as she watched the two couples revolving slowly to the music. Giles was merely relieved that his antagonizers had found something else to do. Buffy dragged the last cheesy fry around idly on the plate before finally eating it.

"We have to figure out how to kill those zombies," she said, deciding that a conversation, even this one, would be better than wallowing in the unfun that was life as a fifth wheel.

"Naturally," said Giles, "though I'm afraid I haven't found anything useful of late in that reference book. I'm starting to suspect that it's being unhelpful on purpose."

Buffy let out a noise of frustration that was largely lost in to the sounds of the crowd and music. "And they're getting more determined, Giles. It's been, what, a whole week since any of the squads came back to base without having to use the flamethrowers? We didn't get all those Slayers called just so they would...so they..." Her voice died away as her eyes became very round. Her expression was one of utter horror and disbelief. Before Giles could voice his concern, she had seized her coat and left the table, and within seconds, she forced her way through the crowd to the door and exited the club.

†

Dawn groaned loudly and thudded her head down on the table. Could college credit really be worth this much work? The tests were two months away, and already her pile of review homework for her AP classes was beginning to resemble a small landmass. What was more, it was seven o'clock, which meant that she'd been in the school later than the janitor.

Her hope had been that this setting would help her focus better than she could at the Quinns' house. Whenever she tried to study with Isabelle, they invariably got sidetracked within minutes by even the most trivial of non-homework related subjects. It was as if they had ADD, but only when attempting to concentrate together. Which, of course, while fun, was also notoriously counterproductive, grades-wise.

With a considerable effort, Dawn raised her head again and put her pen back to paper. Just one more paragraph and the essay, the last of what she had definitely needed to finish, would be done. But her heart wasn't in it, and she wrapped up the paper analyzing the social commentary present in _Catch-22_ with a rather weak three-sentence conclusion, capped her pen a tad harder than necessary, and shoved her things back into her bag. She stood, stretched out the stiffness her joints had acquired from sitting so long, slung the heavy bag over her shoulder, and stumped out of the library. Deciding that she'd rather not walk back to the Quinns' with the weight of the bag digging into her shoulder, she paused at her locker to dump the thing inside, before heading at long last for the doors and a thirteen hour freedom from schoolwork.

Dawn hadn't gone more than ten steps beyond the door when the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise. With the exception of her encounter with the vampires at Stanford the month before, that sort of thing hadn't happened since Sunnydale, so it immediately had her on her guard. She looked around, but night had fallen while she was inside, so it didn't do her much good. All the same, she quickened her pace. In the darkness, she failed to see where the next segment of sidewalk rose unevenly, and her toe caught on it, sending her sprawling.

She got back up, her knees, elbows, and palms all stinging painfully, but she had only just started to walk on when, without warning, a hand came around from behind her and pressed a cloth against her mouth and nose. She struggled, every movie she'd ever seen in which the hapless victim is knocked unconscious with chloroform and hauled off at the villain's mercy flashing in her mind, but whoever was holding her was too strong. Automatically, her lungs forced her to inhale, and the ironically pleasant scent filled her nostrils as the darkness of dusk blurred and became pitch black.

†

"Buffy?" Giles called loudly. No answer. He closed the door behind him slowly and hung his coat on the long rack beside it, before making his way to the stairs. He couldn't remember a time when Buffy had stormed off that upset, and had no idea what could have caused it. At the edge of the stairs, he paused. Up or down? He thought he could hear faint noises from below, so down it was.

Sure enough, once he reached the basement training room, there was Buffy. Her back was to him, and she was laying into a punching bag with every ounce of strength she had. She buried her fist in it, causing it to swing away from her, and when it swung back, she kicked it so hard that it was temporarily boomerang shaped. The next time it came back towards her, her kick knocked it clean off its chain, and it fell to the padded floor with a muffled _thump_. Buffy sank to her knees, holding her head in her hands.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" Giles asked, his brow creased with worry. He walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away, but then turned to look at him. Her face was covered in sweat from the assault on the punching bag, but her eyes sparkled with incoming tears.

"Giles, I think I figured it out," she said in a cracked voice.

"What?" he asked. She looked like she was having real trouble getting the words out, but finally she managed, her eyes boring into his in a desperate, lost way, and it terrified him.

"I think I know why the zombies are here," she said, her voice dropping to a petrified whisper. "Why you can't find the answers in that book." She paused again, the tears spilling over to race down her cheeks, and Giles felt his heart ache. Whatever she was thinking, it was hurting her, and he wanted more than anything to fix it; make it right. "What if it was us? What if when we awoke all of the potentials across the world, the former Slayers got reactivated by accident? What if _we're_ what we've been trying to find? The _thing_ that pulled them out of the ground? Because now they're stuck. Giles, we...we have to take it back!" On this last sentence, she seized his arm tightly.

His expression darkened as her meaning sank in. "No," he said firmly, "I don't believe that."

She looked at him in confusion. "But how can it be anything else?" she asked. "We don't get something this big for free. They were the price, but it's too high. We have to undo it!" She almost seemed angry now.

"Buffy," Giles began calmly, "the spell Willow used...it employed very powerful, very ancient forces. It _did_ draw on the power of the entire Slayer line, with the Scythe as a catalyst, and called all of those girls."

"Then I'm right!" said Buffy.

"That magic was _pure_, Buffy," Giles continued, ignoring her interruption. "It wasn't the raw demonic energy the Shadow Men used to turn that poor girl into the first Slayer; it was the legacy of eons of strong, selfless young women. Warriors, champions, protectors of the innocent. The reanimated Slayers are such an...an utter perversion of what that all meant, of what those women were in life—shells that would murder their successors. Only something of complete and unadulterated evil would even attempt to reanimate their bodies and send them after living Slayers, and there was _no_ evil in that spell. This isn't your fault. This could _never_ be your fault." With that, he pulled her into a tight hug.

Buffy had heard all of his words, and wanted more than anything to believe him. And now, surrounded by his fatherly embrace, she felt like she almost could, but she couldn't see any other way that the reanimated Slayers were possible. Still, she let Giles hold her, and began to sob into his shoulder. If nothing else, it was a relief that she didn't have to be strong for just this moment, that she could shut everything out and just feel safe, because she knew it was all about to become much, much harder.

†

Dawn slowly regained consciousness. Her head hurt, as did her knees, elbows, and palms where they had met the concrete after her fall. But that hadn't been why she passed out... Bits of it started coming back to her, and finally she remembered. The sense that something was wrong, the hand coming around, the chloroform. Her eyes snapped open. For a moment, this hardly helped, but then they adjusted to the gloom, and she looked around, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

She was in some kind of cell. More like a dungeon, actually, though it was rather roomy. About fifteen feet wide and more than twenty across. The floor she sat on was of smooth gray stone, as were the walls. They stretched high above her, and the one to her right contained two tiny barred windows ten feet up. The flickering, silvery glow coming from them was the only source of light in the cell. Her eyes followed the slope of the wide, stone buttress arching down from this wall to the one opposite it, where it continued all the way to the floor. Beside it was a large wooden door. Dawn scrambled to her feet and threw herself at it, but it might as well have been part of the wall, for it didn't so much as creak at the impact, and there was no handle. Fighting off a wave of dizziness at her sudden quick movement and rubbing her now aching shoulder, she turned to look around the cell again. How was she going to get out of here? Before she could quite get to panicking, something in a corner caught her eye. That part of the cell was thick with shadows, so she could barely see, but there was something there. Something moving. Fear rose in her like bile, and she swallowed.

"Who's there?" she asked. Her voice echoed slightly in the cell, greatly enhancing the creepiness factor.

"Why, me, of course," responded a boyish voice from the corner. Not what Dawn expected.

"Come...come out where I can see you," she said, still very wary. The owner of the voice obliged, stepping out of the shadows, causing Dawn to retreat backwards a few steps. He gave a low bow, brilliantly white feathered wings fanning out on either side of him as he did, then folding back as he stood erect and looked at her. She gaped at him.

"I am Saaro, of the noble Chimeras of Azerkeld," he said pleasantly. He ran a hand through thick, inky black hair, and added, "Well, not noble, so much, because everyone tends to treat us Chimeras like dirt, but I forbear."

Dawn looked this Saaro creature up and down. The wings weren't his only unusual features. He was roughly her height, and though his torso seemed perfectly humanoid, from the waist down, he appeared to be a lion. A long tufted tail swished casually behind him, and he shifted his weight back and forth between the two powerful golden-furred legs. His only clothing was a black jacket over a white shirt. When he spoke, Dawn had also seen the glint of long, pointed eyeteeth. "Are you a demon?" she asked hesitantly. Friendly as he acted, she wasn't sure she trusted him yet.

"Of course not!" he said, sounding distinctly offended. "I just told you! I'm a Chimera. A construct. A tainted, impure creation bearing the traits of two races!" His tone suggested pride.

"Okay," said Dawn. There was a pause, during which he tilted his head to look curiously at her. "What?" she asked when this became uncomfortable.

"Well, were you going to tell me your name too, or shall I make one up for you?" he said.

"Oh. Sorry. I'm Dawn," she said, automatically holding out a hand to shake one of his. He merely stared at it, fascinated, and she drew back awkwardly. "So, um, do you know what this place is? I mean, you've kinda been here longer than me."

"Yes, though I thought it would have been obvious where we are," he said.

"Care to point out the obvious, then?" asked Dawn. Her head still throbbed a little and she didn't feel like concentrating.

"It's one of the many holding dimensions maintained by the Wolf, Ram, and Hart," he said.

Dawn's eyes widened. "Wolfram and Hart?" she asked, horrified. But then she frowned. "What did they want with a...uh...Chimera, though?"

Saaro let out a long sigh. "Shall we sit?" he asked.

Dawn nodded. He came a few steps closer and they both sat down. From this distance, Dawn could see that his eyes were different colors; the left was orange and the right, purple. "The story of my imprisonment here involves the history of my world. Would you care to hear it?"

"Not like there's anything better to do in here," said Dawn dully. She found that she was beginning to like the odd creature before her, and his voice was very nice to listen to.

"Very well. My world is one of very few that managed to break free after falling into the clutches of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. They had slithered in, polluting every facet of society, but their treachery was eventually brought to light. Never had the four nations of Azerkeld been so united as when they purged the world of that abomination. They succeeded. But the Wolf, Ram, and Hart had been in power for too long, and without them, the world fell to political instability. What was more, without a common enemy to unite them, the bonds between nations quickly rotted and fell away, plunging the world into a state of chaos and constant warfare. Alliances shifting left and and right, brief periods of peace to make us drop our guard...but it never ended. The Wolf, Ram, and Hart do not take defeat lightly, and they had been poised, ready to spread their infection again when the right moment came." He paused and a smirk spread across his face. Dawn merely waited, captivated by the story.

"This is where I come in," he began again, his voice very smug. "You see, living on the outskirts of society as a Chimera is forced to do, I tend to pick up on things the people on the inside miss. Namely, the residual followers of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart, who were gaining strength and preparing to infiltrate Fyorn. I exposed them, leading to their downfall, but not before they discovered that I had been their undoing. They hunted me down and captured me. And so, here I've been ever since. It's been so long that I rather think they forgot about me, but it's better than what would happen if they remembered."

"How long have you been here?" asked Dawn.

"Well, it's not as if there's really a way to tell time. That light at the windows never changes, and you're just suspended in the state you arrived in. For instance, all this time, I haven't even gotten hungry, but I don't think I'd be exaggerating if I guessed at a hundred years. Give or take a decade."

"A hundred years?" cried Dawn in disbelief. "That's awful! I'd go nuts if I was stuck by myself for just a week!"

"I've kept myself entertained," said Saaro, "Chimeras are immortal—part of why nobody else likes us much, I imagine, and a hundred years doesn't seem like much after you've lived as long as I have. There's not enough room in here to stretch my wings properly, but I've got a series of about twenty novels all ready to be written once I get out. Had to give the voices in my head something to do, didn't I?" He chuckled, then gave Dawn a shrewd look, opened his mouth again to speak, closed it as if he'd changed his mind, then opened it again. "And what about you? Why are you here?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "There was that creepy lawyer lady who was a guest speaker last month, and she reacted kinda funny when I told her my name...but I don't really get why. I mean, my sister's a Slayer, but I'm not one." Dawn groaned, then ran her fingers through her hair. Why hadn't she told Buffy about any of that? Sure, she didn't want her to decide that the place she had finally accepted as her home was too dangerous, but when Buffy called and she didn't answer, she wouldn't have any hints about what was wrong!

"Well," said Saaro, sounding hesitant, "might it not be because of what you are?"

Dawn froze. "What are you talking about?" she asked sharply, her heart beating a little faster. She stood up and took a step back from him.

"It didn't occur to you that you might be here because you are the Key?" he asked, also rising.

†

Buffy sat on her bed, staring blankly at the opposite wall. This was too much to bear. Calling all of the other Slayers was supposed to change the world, give it more warriors in the fight against evil. And it had worked, hadn't it? She wouldn't have been able to kill as many demons by herself as they had all taken out together since arriving in Cleveland, not even if she spent the same amount of time here as she had in Sunnydale. Not to mention the distinctly multi-Slayer jobs the Leviathan and Nyx's six cronies had been.

The plan that had resulted in every potential worldwide becoming a Slayer had been inspired and bold, and seemed like the most brilliant idea ever at the time. But she hadn't considered the consequences. The possibility that the spell would do far more than what she intended. How could she allow it to continue to operate when it disturbed the peace of all of the Slayers who were already done? She knew all too well what it was like to be yanked back, and couldn't imagine a worse or more unjust fate befalling those women. Yes, she wanted to believe Giles. She wanted that with all her heart, but how could he know for certain? His words had been nothing more than eloquently put optimistic thinking.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped slightly. "Come in," she said. Willow entered, looking somber.

"Hi," she said, a small, anxious smile flickering across her face.

"Hi," replied Buffy, not making eye contact.

"Giles told me what happened."

"Then you know what we have to do," said Buffy hollowly. "We have to take the spell back. Make it so Faith and I are the only Slayers again, so all of the past ones can go back to their graves."

"No, we don't," said Willow firmly.

Buffy looked up at her in surprise. "But don't you get it, Wil? That's probably why they captured you! So you'd take it back. We can't stop them. They'll just keep coming. It's better that all of the girls here and across the world lose their calling than their lives."

Willow came and sat next to Buffy on the bed. She was quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She'd never told anyone about this, but it was clear that Buffy needed to hear it. Finally, she looked up, making sure that eye contact was established between them before she began. "Buffy, when I cast that spell...I started off terrified that all the darkness I'd barely been able to keep locked down for a year—that it would escape. And if it had, I know it would have been the end for me. The _real_ end. But I did it. What Giles told you was true." A spark of something that might have been hope flickered to life in Buffy's eyes, but she didn't interrupt.

"The power in the Slayer line, the power of that Scythe; it wasn't like anything I'd ever experienced. Not the natural, earthy magic Giles borrowed from the Coven. Not the magic I'd been learning from books, or what I used to bring you back to life. _Nothing_ like the awful vengeful dark power I had. No. It was a righteous, strong power, and when that went through me, it was like I'd been filled with light. Blinding, almost painful, but beautiful and pure." Willow felt the emotion welling up in her at the memory, and found it increasingly difficult to speak in an even voice. "And then the darkness was gone. I was _free_. Forgiven. That's why in the cave, all of the memories of what I'd done before couldn't break me down. It's why I've been able to teleport and heal and shield and astral project." She chuckled and looked down.

"It's still exhausting and difficult like other magic, sometimes even a lot more difficult. I mean, the darkness was easy." Her expression hardened as she remembered it. "I could have done whatever I wanted with it with the wave of a hand, but not without letting it make me its slave and destroy everything that made me who I was. And as long as I refused while it was still there, it haunted me, chaining me to my fear and leaving me with no way to help you and the others without risking unleashing it." Now she looked fiercely back into Buffy's eyes.

"So I can tell you that there is _no way_ that the power that freed me from my darkness and called so many girls across the world is the same power that's been disturbing the rest of past Slayers. Whatever _is_ responsible, we'll find it, and we'll _end_ it."

Buffy stared at her for a while, letting her words sink in. Finally, her fears and doubts lost their footing. Giles may have been just going off a gut feeling, but Willow was not, and they were both right. "We did the right thing?" she asked, almost pleading. It was all she needed to know.

"We did," said Willow.

Buffy let the relief wash over her, and her face broke into a grateful smile. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around her best friend, who did the same in return. "Thanks, Wil."

†

"What makes you think I'm any kind of key?" asked Dawn loudly.

"It's perfectly obvious," said Saaro casually.

"How?" she asked. Memories of Glory and her followers and Ben and the crazy people all tumbled around in her mind, bringing her closer to the verge of panicking.

"Well, I would be ashamed not to recognize the handiwork of my own world, wouldn't I?" he asked.

"I—I mean, the Key was made on your world?" she said, confused. It didn't make sense. "But the monks...everything that was in books about me—Key me..."

"Books from _your_ world, you mean?" asked Saaro.

"Well, yeah," said Dawn.

"Nothing more than the scribblings of a child. Could one who only sees an object ever _know_ it as wholly as he who created it?"

"I guess not," Dawn admitted.

Saaro sighed. "A failing of intelligent beings is the fear of the unknown. This is a fear I know well, for as a Chimera, I am one of the things feared on my world." His tone was sorrowful, and his wings drooped, but he went on. "Despite this, there will always be the rare few who seek instead to learn. On my world, such were the ones who made you, the original Key that would take them to other worlds. Long before I had even come to being, the tales of your disappearance from Azerkeld had passed into myth. It was a story older than the four great nations themselves, and may have played a part in the interest the Wolf, Ram, and Hart had in my world. Still, enough was known by the successors of those who created you to form lesser Keys, ones which could unlock the doorway to only one world. Never could they duplicate the indiscriminate power of the original, but the lesser Keys were a great boon all the same. Almost every citizen owns at least one, and they use them to pass frequently into different dimensions for trade or travel."

"Well, big use it is now. First time I'm in a different dimension and my Key-ness is locked inside me. Do you have a phone, so we can call one of those hotlines?" Dawn joked.

"Only the Wolf, Ram, and Hart have the means by which to release us from this place," said Saaro. "But I do not believe your power is as inaccessible as you say."

"What if I try using it and it goes wrong, and I turn into a ball of energy and stop being me?" she demanded angrily. "And say I can figure it out. How do I know you won't just knock me out and take me back to your world and claim some big reward for returning their long-lost original Key?"

"And bring something that would cause the nations to utterly destroy each other in the ensuing fight over ownership?" he asked incredulously. "No reward would be worth that! All I want is to go _home_, find the other Chimeras and live my life with them, away from the madness of the 'civilized world'. If I took you there and handed you over, there wouldn't be _anywhere_ I could go that would be far enough to escape that anymore."

"So...you're on my side?" asked Dawn cautiously.

"If your side involves getting out of here, yes," he said.

"But how am I supposed to access this power I've allegedly got in me? The last time someone tried to use the Key, the whole universe almost got destroyed and the only reason it didn't was because my sister died!"

"What complete fool tried to use you then?" said Saaro, appalled. "Keys open _doorways_; they don't destroy anything, much less the entire universe!"

"This crazy hell-god, Glory," said Dawn. "So I think we might want to come up with a Plan B for getting out of here."

He sighed in resignation. "Remember how I've been here for a hundred years? If there was another way out, I would have found it by now. I suppose I should just be content that I have actual company for a change, rather than the ever more numerous voices in my head. Though I doubt you'll stay here long. I'm sure they'll want to use you for something dreadful in no time. Maybe they'll kill me while they're at it, for good measure."

"What?" asked Dawn, panic rising in her again. Stuck here until Wolfram and Hart decided to use her? And they would probably just crack her open to get the Key out, then use it to destroy the world by opening some portal and leaking a horrible hell dimension into it. Then no more Buffy, Connor, Willow, Xander, Giles, Angel, Isabelle, Matthew, or the more than six billion others she didn't know, whose lives would just end... More than she ever had her whole life, Dawn just wanted to be home. Not in this dingy cell with a being from another dimension as her only company. Not waiting to be used. Just home. She'd take twice the amount of homework just to be back there. To see Connor again, to get those calls from Buffy, to be safe in her room. It all roiled inside Dawn until she felt like she would burst. Home, home, _home!_

"Ha! I told you!" came Saaro's triumphant voice.

Dawn's eyes, which she'd shut tight about halfway into her little mental collapse, flew open to see that her hands were shining with bright green light. At this, she started panicking all over again, and the light abruptly vanished. "What was that?" she asked, terrified.

"Haven't you been paying attention?" said Saaro. "That was _you_! You were thinking of your world, weren't you? Or the one you remember as yours. Can't imagine why anyone would want to transform a Key into a living being, by the way. No offense."

"It's okay," said Dawn shakily. There was a pause during which she stared at her hands.

"Well, are you going to try again?" Saaro prodded. There was a touch of impatience in his voice now and his tail flicked back and forth more rapidly than before.

Dawn looked up at him, alarmed. "Uh," she said, "yeah, I guess. Just think of home, right?"

"Think of home."

So Dawn tried it. Palo Alto, Connor, Isabelle, Matthew, school. She barely had time to repeat the list in her head before her hands began to glow again.

"Keep concentrating," Saaro warned when the light flickered.

"Okay," she said. She screwed up her face and concentrated even harder. "Now what?" she asked when the light was so bright it was hard to look at.

"Um," he said uncertainly, "I suppose...feel around for a lock of some kind. I don't think it matters where. It doesn't with the other Keys, anyway."

So Dawn, feeling slightly ridiculous, reached out in the air around her with her left arm, still making sure to think of home. After a moment, her fingers made contact with something. It wasn't solid, really, but something was definitely there. Her stomach leapt with excitement. Saaro was practically bouncing up and down on his huge lion paws from the same emotion. Dawn continued to feel around the odd substance, when, all at once, her arm sank through right up to her shoulder and disappeared from sight.

"Don't panic!" said Saaro hurriedly when she shrieked and tried to pull back. "You've hit the void between dimensions. You've just got to catch hold of yours now and open the door! And keep concentrating!"

"Aaagh!" Dawn grunted. Her left hand felt like it was being compressed very hard. "Are you sure—," she broke off, hissing as the pain worsened, "—that it's supposed to do this?"

"Yes!" he said insistently. "You just have to find the catch now!"

Dawn found it very difficult to move her left arm, but she did. Her fingers brushed past something else. Something definitely more solid. She seized it, and pulled with all her might. It gave, and in the air around her shoulder, a ring of bright blue light formed. She withdrew her arm and used both hands to stretch the ring wide, as wide as she could reach. Saaro ran around to join her. Through the newly created doorway, they could both see the same sidewalk where Dawn had been walking just before she was knocked out and captured.

"I did it!" said Dawn, shocked. She looked at Saaro. He beamed widely at her, which was slightly unsettling because of his sharp teeth, but she grinned back anyway. Together, they stepped across to the sidewalk on the other side. Once through, Dawn turned to see the light-ringed doorway still there, their cell clearly visible through it. "Uh."

"Now you close it," said Saaro, as if that was obvious. "This isn't some spell-created temporary portal. It's a _door_. Like physical doors, it must be closed and locked again."

Dawn nodded, then reached out and pulled the shining blue edges of the hole back towards the middle until only a tiny space remained. She put her arm through it, found the catch again, twisted, and pulled, after which her arm was promptly forced back out, leaving only empty air where the door had been. She winced and examined her fingers. Outlines of blood surrounded each of the fingernails on her left hand.

"Ow," she said, gritting her teeth and flexing her fingers. "I guess I'm the only Key that can complain, huh?"

"Most likely," said Saaro.

"So, do you want me to help you get home now?" Dawn asked, wanting to get it over with.

"Please," he said eagerly.

"Okay. Uh, how am I supposed to open a doorway to your world, though? I've never been there. Or, well, I guess I have," she amended, "but that was apparently an insanely long time ago, and I don't remember anything from when I was just the Key."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Keys are funny things. Anyone can use them, but they only work if the doorway they open leads to a place you've been before, unless you already know enough about it without having been there already, that is. You're the only Key with the ability to open _all_ doorways. So, while you could open it to this world, no trouble, for you to open one to Azerkeld, you'll need a little help from me."

"Would have saved us all a lot of trouble if we'd known this when Glory was trying to get me," said Dawn, rolling her eyes. "'Here, crazy hell-god lady, let me just open a door to your world for you, off you go, hope we don't keep in touch.' I guess Murphy's Law doesn't just apply to this dimension. Stupid Murphy."

"Ready?" asked Saaro.

Dawn nodded, preparing herself as well as she could. Saaro held out his hand, and she took it. Immediately, her free hand began to glow green. Once again, she felt around in thin air, and was sucked into the opening she found up to her shoulder. She gritted her teeth to stop from crying out. It hurt worse this time. As quickly as she could, she found the catch and pulled. This time the resulting light was purple. Dawn withdrew her arm and stretched the opening wide. Through the gleaming purple ring, they could see tall, red grass over a rolling plain, and a weirdly violet atmosphere. Patches of mist resembling the Aurora Borealis flickered here and there.

"Thank you, Dawn," said Saaro with aching sincerity. Dawn looked at him. Tears were streaming freely from his mismatched eyes. He raised her right hand, which he still held, and pressed the back of it to his lips, before leaping past her through the doorway, back into his world. Dawn watched as he spread his wings and soared joyously into the purple sky, before she closed the door behind him. After she had finished and withdrawn her arm from the void, blood was actually dripping from around her fingernails. She put them in her mouth to try to soothe the ache as she at last began to continue her walk back to the Quinns' house.

She could hardly believe what had just happened. A bit of the girl she'd been after first learning that she was the Key resurfaced. She wasn't really human, and what she had just done would always be proof of that. But she was older and, she liked to think, wiser than she had been then. She thought back to her long conversation with Connor the month before. This didn't have to change who she was, just like Connor remembering his true past hadn't changed him, except, understandably, to make him a bit more prone to brooding than he had been before.

Dawn's thoughts shifted to Buffy and she felt a guilty twinge in her stomach. She hadn't told her about Connor. He didn't want to make a big deal about the fact that he was Angel's son, and Dawn knew that filling Buffy in on that detail would probably be the single most counterproductive thing to furthering that goal. Besides, it was really something that Buffy deserved to be told by Angel himself, and she made a mental note to point that out to the vampire as soon as she got the chance.

But this was different. It wasn't about things going on around her this time. Now it was about her. Her and her newfound...power. The idea of it freaked her out immensely, and more than just because her hand still hurt about as badly as anything she'd ever experienced.

No matter how Dawn looked at it, she couldn't see a scenario in which Buffy _wouldn't_, on learning what had just happened, try to have her moved somewhere besides Palo Alto to keep her safe—especially considering what using her power had done to her hand, and that a branch of Evil, Incorporated was after her for that power. And that wasn't something Dawn would allow if she could help it. Which meant that the only person she'd be able to tell was Connor. She hated hiding things from Buffy, particularly things this important, but she wouldn't be able to bear trying to make somewhere else her home. Not after everything. Not when she and Connor had gotten so close, or when she had such good friends as Isabelle and Matthew.

She jumped when she realized that she was already standing in front of the Quinns' house. She hadn't noticed her feet carrying her all the way back while she remained lost in thought. This would definitely be the last time she studied elsewhere until after nightfall. She couldn't risk the same thing happening again. The key point in the plan to not tell Buffy any of crazy stuff was that she'd still be around to tell her about the increasingly fewer and farther between mundane parts of her life.

†

"If you could manage it, yes, that would be excellent," said Giles into the phone. A pause as he listened to the response. "Thank you, and best wishes." With that, he replaced the phone in its cradle, turning just in time to see Buffy and Willow emerging at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled over at them, and to his relief, Willow wasn't the only one who smiled back.

"Okay, everyone ready for patrol?" Buffy asked loudly. The girls in the room nodded, a few of them holding up the weapons they'd picked out. "Great. Now, same drill if you come across any of the zombie Slayers. Everything has a weakness, and we're going to find theirs, but until then, if you see them, use the flamethrowers and get to safety."

Willow smiled again at the confidence in her voice, then went to join Oz by one of the couches and slipped her hand into his.

"Knock 'em dead," Xander told Renée, winking. Then he frowned. "Uh, just so you know, that was a wink, even though on me it's kinda hard to distinguish from blinking these days."

"Thanks anyway," she said, laughing.

"Hey, where's Megan?" Buffy asked. She'd seen Clare and Kat among the group, but the newest member of her squad wasn't with them.

"Looking for this?" came a voice from the stairs behind her, accompanied by a whimper. Buffy whipped around and her eyes widened. The newcomer released her grip on Megan's hair, by which the unfortunate girl had just been dragged all the way there from the front door. Megan fell to the floor, then scrambled away, shooting a desperately apologetic look up at Buffy.

"Nyx," said Buffy blankly, as everyone else in the room froze.

"Miss me?"

* * *

Dramatic chord. Again. Buffy's belief that the mass-Slayer spell was what brought about the reanimated Slayers. How horrible would it be to think that your big world-changing awesome plan actually made it worse? Yeah. That's why that was in there. She needed to deal with that possibility, even if it wasn't true. Saaro! I love him. He is adorable. And more tie-ins to Lorin's home dimension. If you'll remember, back in "From Distant Fronts", I had Embry saying how Lorin was "lower than a Chimera" because of marrying Sam, and now we get to see a different side of that. Azerkeld is one messed up place. But points for getting rid of Wolfram and Hart. Even if doing so irreparably damaged their world. I absolutely love Willow's speech to Buffy. Which also happens to be a jab at what they did with Willow in the S8 comics. And, check it out, Dawn has the Key powers now. Seriously, though, after it was one of the main points of season five, the whole being the Key just goes away? I think not. I mean, why would there be wars fought over something that can only be used once, destroying the world in the process? It makes much more sense to me to think that Glory had no idea how to use the Key correctly, but she did know that releasing its energy at this one time and place would break down the walls between dimensions. Anyway. Dawn is really getting invested in her life in Palo Alto, and as weird as it gets, she doesn't want Buffy to take it away. Which is understandable, even if it's a little insane that she would rather stay put when Wolfram and Hart is after her than fess up. However, knowing what we know about Wolfram and Hart, we can safely assume that Miss Branston, due to the now failed status of her goal to overtake Los Angeles, is pretty much dead. And the project abandoned, because, as they laughed about in the conference room, W&H: San Francisco lacks L.A.'s debilitating flaw of flogging dead horses until they get back up and kick their teeth in. Instead, a failed project is simply terminated. Cut back to headquarters! Any guesses who Giles just phoned? Another one-eyed joke from Xander, though unintentional, more slight Willow/Oz-ness, and then, re-enter Nyx. End. Yesss.


	18. 8x19: Pyrokinetic

Episode 19: Pyrokinetic

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée

and

Rachel Hurd-Wood as Nyx

†

Xander and Renée automatically drew closer together and Oz's grip on Willow's hand tightened as they all stared at the intruder.

"No, actually, we've been having a blast without you," Buffy replied coldly. "Did you come for a fight? Because, thirty-six armed Slayers—nine of them holding flamethrowers—and the most powerful witch this side of the Atlantic, or possibly in the whole world, pretty much make very suicidal odds for you."

"Pfft. If I'd come for a fight, I would have killed that one right after she invited me in," the vampire replied scornfully, jerking a thumb at Megan.

"Who's that?" asked Rose, a Slayer Andrew had sent up about a week before.

"Nyx," said Giles, "She was a Slayer…when she was alive. She was turned into a vampire nearly three centuries ago, during her Cruciamentum."

"Whoa," said Rose, turning to face Nyx, "If you were a Slayer, does that make you like a good vampire?"

Megan, whose scalp was still throbbing from having been dragged by it from the front door to where she now lay, lifted her head to shoot the girl an angrily incredulous glare.

"Well, let me see," Nyx began in mock thoughtfulness. "My favorite pastime: killing Slayers. And, I'm still warm from the blood of the last innocent I drained...but, you know, in the fifteen minutes or so since then, I've had a real change of heart!" She ended on a bright smile, before her expression became abruptly stony.

"Oh," said Rose, embarrassed.

"Okay, so if you're not here for a fight, why _are_ you here?" asked Buffy, folding her arms across her chest.

"Ever heard that expression, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?" said Nyx. She wrinkled her nose and added, "Well, I still loathe you all on principle, but that's not the point."

"_We_ have a common enemy?" said Buffy with great derision.

"Is that even possible?" asked Xander.

"Oh, does that mean you're friends with the one responsible for the reanimated Slayers?" inquired Nyx.

"No," said Willow. "A lot no, actually. But why would they be your enemy too?"

"Well, I ran into one of their dead puppets a while back. Wouldn't have cared, except it was your girl. The one whose neck I snapped right in front of you," she said, looking annoyed. Buffy glared furiously at her, an expression mirrored by everyone else in the room. She ignored this and went on, "Sort of as a general rule, I like the Slayers I kill to stay buried. Funny thing, though; no matter how many times I yanked her limbs off, she kept getting back up. That didn't really sit right, so I dug a little deeper. Figured out who's pulling the strings. Now, here's where it gets interesting. I'm going to tell you."

"Why would you do that?" asked Buffy flatly.

"Yeah, wouldn't that be considered sabotage?" added Oz.

"Sabotage applies to those on your side," said Nyx. "Conveniently, I'm the only one on my side. I couldn't care less about moral alignment. Now, back to these dead girls. I don't want them around, you're better equipped to stop them, you take them out. Since that's what you want anyway, win-win."

"So tell us who's behind it," said Buffy, not pointing out that no matter how equipped they were, they still didn't actually know how to kill them.

"And give up my bargaining chip? With, like you said, thirty-six Slayers, nine flamethrowers, and the witch still in the room? Not likely." She whipped a hand up level with her face. Between the middle and pointer finger was held a worn piece of thick parchment that appeared to have been torn from a book. "You'll have to do this for me first. I'll know when it's done, and then you'll get your information." With that, she let the paper fall, and by the time it had floated down to the floor, she had already flitted back down the stairs and out of sight. Buffy walked forward and picked it up. Her expression darkened.

"What is it?" asked Giles apprehensively.

"A protection spell," she said. "To prevent us from slaying her."

†

Dawn walked into her room, closed the door behind her, and flopped heavily on the bed. The pain was finally lessening somewhat, and her fingernails had stopped bleeding. She'd stuffed the injured hand into her pocket before entering the house so the Quinns wouldn't see and ask questions. Now she brought it out and examined it closely. The skin was slightly discolored by the faint purplish red of bruising just beneath the surface. The "void between dimensions", as Saaro had called it, was evidently not a place human parts should be put through. As she gingerly rubbed her right hand over her aching left, she felt a slight twinge of regret.

_"They'll never know how tough it is, Dawnie. To be the one who isn't chosen. To live so near to the spotlight and never step in it. But I know. I see more than anybody realizes because nobody's watching me. I saw you last night. I see you working here today. You're not special. You're extraordinary." _

A very large part of her wished that those words still applied; that she could still be the normal kind of extraordinary, where it was who instead of what she was that set her apart. True, Dawn wasn't exactly _chosen_ like the Slayers were, but she had power. Power she now knew how to use. Her gaze fell on the picture on her nightstand. Four years earlier versions of herself, Buffy, and their mother smiled back at her from within the frame. She wished she could tell Buffy everything. More than that, though, she realized how much she wished she could tell her mother. She would have been able to make Dawn feel warm and loved, all the confusion and fear would go away and she could be safe, and there really wasn't anyone who could completely replace that.

Dawn picked up the picture and ran her fingers over the middle figure, and then an impossibly wonderful idea occurred to her. Hadn't Saaro said that she was the only Key capable of opening _all_ interdimensional doorways? Her heart began to race with excitement. What if she _could_ get that comfort, the kind only Joyce Summers could provide? All she had to do was think of her, think of the kind of place she must be in, and reach out.

Her left hand gave a painful throb before she could get any farther, and she hesitated. This was big, but there was no reason she had to try this second, right? It would probably work better if she gave herself time to heal anyway, she thought reasonably.

She put the picture back on the table and instead picked up the phone next to it, then dialed Connor's number. For the time being, at least, she did have someone she could tell. It would have been better in person, but she thought it would probably be wise to stay in the house in case someone else from Wolfram and Hart wanted to make another kidnap attempt.

†

In an effort to keep things as routine as possible, Giles had convinced Buffy to send the squads out on patrol just as they would have done had Nyx not made her surprise appearance. Vi, who would have had the night off, helpfully volunteered to take Buffy's place so that she could remain at headquarters and confront the new situation.

"Think she was bluffing?" asked Oz. "I mean, that's some serious mojo she's asking for."

"If we cast it and it turns out to have been a ruse, she could become a much larger problem," Giles pointed out.

"Yeah," said Willow, "This spell is serious stuff." She looked down at the parchment in her hand again and her brow creased in apprehensive frustration. "It doesn't leave any wiggle room or loopholes either. It's a blood oath spell. She put her blood on the page already, and to complete it, you have to add yours and then read the incantation. And there's a pentagram and herbs and stuff…. You do this, Buffy, and no Slayer will be able to physically harm Nyx in any way, and she'll be the only one who can break it."

"I don't think she's bluffing," said Buffy slowly.

"And you can tell, how?" asked Xander.

"She's already killed fourteen Slayers. Her power trip comes from fighting them one on one, making sure they think they'll win, and then proving her superiority by killing them. She isn't stupid. She knows that even with a track record like hers, she'd end up dust if enough Slayers dogpiled her or pulled a flamethrower on her. The spell is just insurance, and she left a way to lift it for whenever she feels like fighting one of us again."

"Also, I don't think she likes the idea of there being a bigger bad in town than her," said Willow. "I mean, she staked her sire for thinking he was above her, and that kind of thing is pretty taboo-y for vampires, isn't it?"

Giles nodded.

"So, assuming she's not bluffing, we do the spell, she tells us what she knows, we go up against it, one of us ends up losing. Either way she's got one less enemy to worry about," said Xander.

"And she gets to sit back and watch while we do the dirty work," said Oz.

"I think we should do it," said Buffy after a deep breath. "Spell doesn't say anything about a witch or other non-Slayer type people. If Nyx is double-crossing us, we can find another way to get rid of her."

"If you're certain," said Giles, who still wasn't sure the risks didn't outweigh the benefits.

"As certain as I'm gonna get," she replied.

†

The next morning in her AP English class, Dawn was so preoccupied with the events of the previous night that Mr. Patek's voice faded to an incoherent drone in her ears. The conversation with Connor had greatly improved her outlook on her new situation, and she was itching to try her abilities some more. The idea she'd received from looking at the photo had consequently taken firm root in her imagination.

Already, she was rolling through every memory of her mother that she could, as well as every speculation she had ever made about what heaven was like and what little Buffy had ever said about it. Every time she ran through it all, her confidence that she'd actually be able to pull this off would swell, so it was hardly surprising that she was barely aware of her surroundings.

But not even Dawn, in her very distracted state, could have missed what happened next. Halfway through detailing his expectations for the largest weekend homework load yet, Mr. Patek suddenly let out a cry of alarm. Dawn's head jerked up, and her eyes widened. The man's infamous toupée, which more than half of the students believed to actually be a comatose badger, was on fire.

Many of Dawn's classmates screamed or began otherwise to panic (though one or two of the boys laughed), Mr. Patek continued to yell as he flung the flaming toupée to the ground and started stomping on it, and whoever was sitting nearest the fire alarm quickly pulled it. Their ears were assaulted by the harsh, blaring noise that resulted, and there was soon a chaotic bottleneck as they all tried to leave the room at once.

Within moments, everyone in the English building was outside on the quad, all but the students of Mr. Patek's class under the impression that it was just a regular fire drill. Dawn could hear a pair of teachers complaining about how it had interrupted timed essays, and that the office had failed to warn them beforehand.

When they finally did get back to class, Mr. Patek was understandably absent. The substitute, either in the spirit of Friday or out of sheer apathy, told them they could just hang out as long as it didn't get too loud, and then proceeded to pull out a book. While her classmates were happily preoccupied following these instructions, Dawn began to surreptitiously glance around the room. There was no way that fire had happened by accident. Even wigs as hideous as that one had been didn't just burst into flames for no reason. For a minute, she didn't see anything unusual, until she noticed that Mr. Patek wasn't the only one missing. The seat in the back corner of the room was vacant, though it was normally filled by Kaida Griffith.

Nobody noticed as Dawn got up and moved over to Kaida's desk and sat down, still not quite sure what she was hoping to find. She looked down at the faux wood and saw oddly blackened spots halfway up the edges. She placed her hands over the marks, which fit the shape of her thumbs perfectly. When she pulled away, both of her palms were coated in what she realized was charcoal. She bent down to look at the underside of the desk, where the burn marks continued around in the unmistakable shapes of clenched fingers.

Dawn abruptly stood back up and grabbed her stuff before approaching the substitute. "Can I go to the bathroom?" she asked. Not looking up from her book, the substitute nodded, and Dawn departed hastily. As she left the classroom, she tried to think where Kaida would have gone, wondered at the same time what she was supposed to say to a girl she'd never really spoken to and who had, as far as she could figure, telepathically set fire to their teacher's wig.

†

Buffy rubbed her thumb where she had pricked it to get the blood for Nyx's spell. She felt very restless. They had done the inordinately creepy spell the night before, and there was no sign of the vampire yet. And, though it was now past noon, snow was falling from a thick dome of clouds, so sunlight wouldn't be a problem. Many of the girls were either downstairs in the training room or up in their own rooms doing schoolwork, but a few, mostly squad leaders, stood around with the Scoobies on the second floor, waiting.

"Don't look so excited to see me," came Nyx's voice at precisely one o'clock. Everyone in the room went slightly rigid as they turned to face her.

"Okay, we held up our end of the deal. So what do you know?" said Buffy. Willow watched Nyx closely, prepared to use the same immobilization spell on her that she'd used on Ethan Rayne months before if she tried anything.

"And I was looking forward to the small talk," said Nyx with a sarcastic pout, though this vanished as she became suddenly businesslike. "Very well. The one behind the little zombie infestation problem? It's the First."

The two seconds of complete quiet following her words were merely the calm before the storm. Then everyone began talking at once, so that the room was quickly filled with the discordant sounds of protestation, skeptical muttering, and angry shouting. As the mayhem rose to a crescendo, Nyx scowled in irritation, walked over to the TV, and slammed her small fist violently through the enormous screen. The cacophony of the glass shattered and smaller appliances perched on top crashed to the floor left a shocked silence in its wake. Eventually, Xander broke it.

"I think you might want to check your sources again," he said. "We defeated the First last year."

Nyx snorted. "No, no," she said, walking back from the wreckage of the TV to her former position. "You _didn't_ defeat the First. You defeated its army and wiped its base of operations from the face of the Earth, sure, but the First Evil itself is still out there—or, more accurately, _here_. In Cleveland."

"But why hasn't it revealed itself? Last year we barely had a moment's rest between taunts," said Buffy, rolling her eyes.

"True," said Giles, "Subtlety was hardly part of its modus operandi."

"And exactly how well did that work out?" said Nyx. "It wasn't going to make the same mistake twice." She grinned wickedly. "Which is why I'm doing the honors for it this time."

"Why would it come here?" asked Rona.

"Same reason you came here," said Nyx.

"The Hellmouth," said Oz.

"And we have a winner," said Nyx. "Still," she added, "fortunately for you, you're sitting over a dud."

"What?" said Willow blankly.

"This Hellmouth? It's dead. Ran out of dark energy, or whatever, about a century ago. Basically the same thing as an extinct volcano."

"But how is that possible?" asked Giles. "There was enough malignant power here to burn through a map when we cast a power-tracing spell the day we arrived."

"Purely residual," said Nyx, waving a hand dismissively. "The place still holds a nostalgic sort of afterglow for demons."

"I suppose it makes sense," said Renée. "Remember how the Seal was cracked? That would explain why."

"All right, but if the Hellmouth is dead, what does the First want with it?" asked Buffy.

"To revive it, obviously," said Nyx.

"Can it do that?" asked Xander, looking horrified.

"Don't know," she said, shrugging. "My guess is that it would involve drowning the Seal in a massive Slayer bloodbath, but I suggest stopping it before we find out."

"Okay, okay," said Buffy loudly, shaking her head, "there are some _gaping_ holes in this little story of yours. You're a demon. If all of this is true, then you should be _wanting_ the Hellmouth to be revived and for the First to squish us."

"No," said Nyx. "I'm actually content with the amount of power I've got, since, you know, it's twice as much as yours. I don't care about the Hellmouth, and schemes to get more power have this tendency to fatally backfire. Like how your little trick to call all of the potential Slayers did, by giving the First the inspiration for its new army. And the opening for it, too. I mean, you blew the floodgates that were keeping the Slayer line all nice and structured clean away, leaving just enough power to spare for all the ones dead and gone to take up arms again and rip yours off."

Buffy glared at her. "Still doesn't explain why you'd tell us."

"Anyone ever tell you people how astonishingly slow you are?" Nyx asked in disgust. "The First has been using necromancers to reanimate the past Slayers. _I'm_ a past Slayer, which makes me a candidate. You guys aren't the only fans of free will. I will _not_ be made one of the First's puppets, even if it would just use me to kill Slayers. I choose who I kill and when I kill them, and right now I'm choosing to rat out the forces of evil." Her air of cool control had faltered, her tone becoming more passionate and her expression angrier as she spoke.

"So, basically," said Xander, "you're here because you can't take not being the baddest of the bad in this town."

"Don't make me rip your head off, boy," she said menacingly.

Renée grabbed Xander's hand tightly, and his retort died in his throat.

"Now look whose buttons just got pushed," said Buffy, amused.

Nyx's lip curled.

"Well, isn't this interesting." They all jumped and turned to face the voice. It had originated from beside the ruin of the TV, where there now stood what appeared to be a second, thoroughly irate Nyx. But the real Nyx and everyone who had been in Sunnydale in its final days knew better.

†

Dawn rounded the southeast corner of the library and finally spotted her quarry. She let out a sigh that was both of relief and exasperation, for she had spent ten minutes looking in every girls' bathroom on campus, just to find Kaida sort of out in the open. She was standing not far from a large tree there with her back to Dawn.

"Hey," said Dawn tentatively.

Kaida jumped and whirled around, her face temporarily hidden by the curtain of dirty blond hair that swung across it. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Pretty weird, that whole spontaneous hairpiece combustion thing, huh?" said Dawn casually.

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Look, I'm not going to tell anyone," said Dawn, holding her hands out in front of her. "But I know you did it. I saw the burn marks on your desk, and you being gone was kinda conspicuous."

"Great," said Kaida dully. "Well the point was mostly to be alone now, so if you'll excuse me." She made to move past Dawn, but didn't make it far before Dawn seized her arm.

"Wait!" she said.

"Get off!" said Kaida, and the skin where Dawn had grabbed was suddenly burning with heat. Reflex forced Dawn to jerk her hand away again. Kaida backed away, looking horrified. "I'm sorry!" she said, and bolted.

Dawn wasn't giving up that easily. Once again, Kaida hadn't made it very far when she caught up with her. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" Kaida asked, her eyes flashing angrily. The grass around where she stood was beginning to smoke and curl into ash.

"I just want to help you!" said Dawn.

"Oh yeah? And how were you planning to do that?" she said skeptically. "There's not a cure for starting fires with your mind, and I don't want one anyway."

"Who said anything about curing you?" said Dawn. "I was just going to try to help you calm down. You're not the only one, you know." For emphasis, she held up her right hand and concentrated as hard as she could on the strange but beautiful world she had watched Saaro disappear into the night before. Kaida took a hasty step back when Dawn's hand began to glow. The glowing stopped, and Dawn opened her eyes again to look at a thoroughly startled Kaida. "See?"

"So is the whole school full of freaks, or is it just us?" she said.

"Just us, as far as I know." Dawn paused, her gaze falling on the blackened remains of grass around Kaida's feet. "How long have you been able to do that?" she asked curiously.

"Dunno. I guess I've got a history of stuff catching fire around me, but never anything like what happened today." She shook her head and chuckled.

"What?" asked Dawn.

"Wish I'd figured it out sooner. I could have set all the teachers who tried to assign too much homework on fire."

Dawn's expression hardened. "You can't do that," she said sharply.

Kaida shot her a very sour look. "And who made you the boss of me?"

"I'm not," she said quickly. "It's just, you shouldn't get in the habit of abusing your power like that. It'll get you in trouble. I know people who let themselves get carried away with it, and it always ended badly." Amy, Faith, Willow…. Dawn shuddered. "_Very_ badly."

"What happened?"

"Well, one of them ended up stuck as a rat for three years, another went to prison, and the third was one of the nicest people I know, and she went psycho and almost destroyed the world."

Kaida raised her eyebrows.

"What?" said Dawn. "I wasn't being melodramatic. That seriously happened. Although, the last two have been back with the good guys for a while and are doing some pretty amazing things. And there are others. My big sister has super strength and is leading a bunch of other girls like her against all the vampires and demons and stuff in Cleveland. My boyfriend has super strength, too. Whatever power we have, we don't use it for ourselves. We use it to help people."

"Thanks, Uncle Ben," said Kaida, rolling her eyes. She dropped her gaze and shifted slightly, forcing her hands deeply into the pockets of her baggy jeans. "I guess I get that. And that's all great for them, but exactly how does setting things on fire help people?"

"I don't know. How does opening portals to other dimensions? I guess you could always help someone with hypothermia."

Kaida snorted. "Yeah, because there are _so_ many of them in California."

"I bet it would really come in handy against a demon," Dawn pointed out. "You could burn a vampire to a crisp, no trouble."

"That could be fun," said Kaida, her eyes lighting up eagerly. "Know where I can find any?"

Dawn faltered, remembering where that attitude had almost gotten her a month ago. "I mostly meant if you happen to get attacked by one or see someone else getting attacked."

"Right." Kaida looked a little disappointed.

"So, ready for Physics?" Dawn asked. Kaida shrugged and they started walking in the direction of the class. Dawn gave a nervous laugh. "You're…not going to set Mrs. Howell on fire, are you?"

†

Everyone stared back and forth between Nyx and the imposter with great trepidation.

"Interesting how?" Nyx retorted disdainfully. "Interesting, like, I've taken out more Slayers in the past century alone than you have…ever? Having your minions do it for you doesn't count. Oh, and stop wearing my face."

"Impudent vampire. You dare defy _me_? You, no more than a small demon infecting the corpse of a Slayer, and I, the embodiment of all malignance and sin? The First Ev—"

"You know what?" Nyx interrupted in a bored voice. "You can't scare me. For one thing, you're a _ghost_, so, your threats? _Ringingly_ empty. And for another, thanks to the white knights here, not even your little dead Slayer dolls can touch me, but have fun trying to whip up one of the necromancers fast enough to catch me. Figurative whipping, though, 'cause of the you being incorporeal."

"What's going on?" Renée whispered to Xander in confusion.

"Um," he said. He thought for a moment. "Okay. Think of it like this." He pointed to Nyx. "Dark Link," he said. Then he pointed to the First. "Ganondorf."

"Oh," said Renée, her expression becoming apprehensive, "right."

"Well then. Damage done," said Nyx, turning her back firmly on the First. "I'll just leave you all to your death match." She gave Buffy a falsely cheerful wave, then made for the stairs. When Rona blocked her path, she raised her eyebrows at her. "You sure you want to do that? Sure, bravery is honorable and all that crap, but it won't help the bones knit faster." Rona grudgingly moved aside and Nyx had departed.

"Oh, goodie," said Buffy, turning back to face the First. "We get to trade one self-absorbed villain for the original self-absorbed villain."

"I did kinda miss this part," the First admitted, its appearance now morphing smoothly to mirror Buffy's instead of Nyx's. "I've been meaning to thank you for wiping out that useless rabble of Turok-Han. I like the new army much better. Poetic, don't you think? Just when you think you've made the world so much better, set up that brighter future, the past itself comes back to tear it to shreds. It was funny when you thought you were directly responsible for that, too. Five seconds of fear and doubt was all it took before you wanted to strip their power away and focus that spotlight back on yourself."

A couple of the other Slayers turned to look questioningly at Buffy, who didn't meet their eyes. Giles put a hand on her shoulder and the glare she was shooting at the First grew fiercer.

"And let's see how the rest of the gang's been," it went on. Its gaze raked across the others, stopping when it arrived at Willow and Oz. "Well, well, if it isn't the wolf in human clothing." Both of their stomachs clenched when the First transformed again, this time, rather unexpectedly, into Veruca. "Just a matter of time, Red, before another one like me comes along. Not even your music goes as deep as the monster inside."

Oz moved to stand protectively in front of Willow, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest. "Ooh, look who's become one with the beast. And you said you weren't like me. But then, I guess you two aren't so different either, after all." It became Warren instead, and Willow felt the old hollow sensation of guilt trying to drag her under. She clung tightly to Oz to keep from slipping away, and together they managed to hold each other up. "Aww, yeah. You're both killers. I guess you really do belong together now. And it looks like that just leaves the fearless leader herself, kid sister, and Cyclops without blood on their hands." It was as if they were trapped in a nightmare and all they could do was watch in silence as it continued, even though they knew it could only get worse. "But that's not _completely_ true, is it?"

Now it turned to Xander, who felt Renée's hand over his again even as his insides turned cold. Warren's face had become Anya's. "Why didn't you protect me, Xander?" she asked. "Why weren't you there? You could have stopped it. It was just one sword from behind me." A dark red line appeared from her right shoulder to left hip, then widened as the blood soaked her clothing.

"Oh, God, An," said Xander in a cracked whisper as his heart twisted to pieces. Still, he was unable to look away as his worst fear manifested itself in front of him. He could have saved her….

"And who's this?" she went on, glaring at Renée, blood beginning to trickle from the corner of her mouth. "I guess I didn't mean _that_ much if you've already managed to replace—"

But Xander had finally had enough. "_Shut up!_" he shouted, so loudly that it made a few people jump. "You're not her! You don't get to look like that anymore!"

The First let out a long, cruel laugh. "As if a pathetic little boy like you could intimidate me. And you still think you're important here." It turned back into Buffy, then looked at Rona, Vi, Alex, and the other girls standing there. "Kinda weird, isn't it? The way you're all every bit as chosen as I am, but you're still just the troops? Just an objective outsider's perspective, but that doesn't really seem right."

"We're here because we want to be," said Vi resolutely. "So that we can stop _you_."

The First's eyes narrowed momentarily, before it gave a chuckle. "Keep telling yourself that. You'll all make fine additions to my army soon."

†

Buffy stood on the roof long after the sun had set behind the still thick clouds, overlooking the city as the dreary gray daylight faded smoothly to night while the snow continued to fall. The First was back. No, it had been in the city with them all along, and was merely out in the open at last.

It had not been a fun afternoon. Though Willow and Oz had hardly stopped holding on to each other since the visit from the First, Buffy had caught sight of Willow hastily wiping her eyes once or twice, and Oz had retreated into a brooding silence. Xander, meanwhile, had busied himself with the rather large task of cleaning up the broken TV parts to keep from breaking down, and he too had barely spoken for hours. And Giles had gone down to oversee the training sessions in the basement, leaving Buffy alone with her thoughts.

She looked around at the white flakes falling everywhere and frowned. It seemed wrong, somehow, that it snowed so often here. It made it feel too normal. Too commonplace. She clearly remembered the only time it had ever snowed in Sunnydale, the first time she had really experienced snow. It had been the timely miracle that finally convinced Angel that he was meant for this world; that he could fight for it, whether at her side or not.

But that wasn't the only significance of the snow that Christmas. It had also marked the coda of Buffy's initial encounter with the First Evil. She'd been surprised enough the year before when it returned with a chronic case of megalomania, but now it was back yet again. Well, she thought, wasn't the third time supposed to be the charm? Whether that was true or not, they weren't leaving this up in the air again. This time they would defeat the First once and for all, actually destroy it. Otherwise it would probably just keep coming back. As to the First's army of reanimated Slayers, the more she thought about it, the surer Buffy became that the lynchpin of the operation was down in that cave, in the unexplored second chamber.

"You try so hard," came a voice behind her. Her breath caught in her lungs and she whirled around. Her mother was walking towards her. Her heart and her head were completely at odds, the former thumping insistently with longing and a need for comfort while the latter roiled with anger at the reality of what she was seeing. "But it's never enough, is it, sweetie?" Buffy did not give it the satisfaction of responding, keeping her expression as blank as possible. "You can't stop what's coming any more than you could stop a tiny lump of mutated cells from taking me away from you and Dawn."

Even at the memories this sent blasting across her mind, Buffy did not allow herself to react, instead turning back to look over the front of the building again. She couldn't see the thing pretending to be her mother anymore, but she couldn't ignore the voice, no matter how hard she tried. It was a sound so inextricably linked with love and goodness and home that she almost didn't want to block it out anyway.

"You know Dawn won't be safe no matter how far away you're keeping her once my army wipes out you and yours. I think I'll even have your body be the one to crush the life from her. At least you'll be the last thing she sees." But Buffy wasn't listening anymore. A smile spread slowly across her face as she realized what she was seeing in the parking lot below. She turned and walked right through the thing that was not her mother, heading for the trapdoor.

†

Dawn felt the excitement building in her again as she raced to get back to her room after dinner. She could do this. She knew she could. She was going to see her mother again, now. There was the picture, and she stared at the kind, smiling face in the middle, let the memories she'd been pulling out all day flood her mind, and imagined the most perfect, wonderful place she could possibly think of. Her hands began to glow brilliant green again and her heart hammered wildly with anticipation.

But then she hesitated. Unbidden into her mind had popped Kaida, and it completely shot her concentration. Still staring at the picture, Dawn sat down on her bed and tried to focus again, but she was now aboard the wrong train of thought, the doors had closed, and it had started to move. If it hadn't been for her today, Kaida wouldn't have had anyone to stop her from abusing her power and becoming a crazed arsonist. That could have gone very dangerously wrong for a lot of people besides Kaida, but now it wouldn't. Or at least it wasn't as likely. Dawn was going to have to keep a close eye on her classmate for a while until she was sure they could get fully out of the woods without Kaida burning them down.

Dawn attempted to return her attention to the task at hand, but something was off. Something she could no longer ignore. What was she doing? After specifically telling Kaida that she couldn't use her power just for whatever she wanted, she was going to try to breach dimensional walls? Would her mother even want that? No, she would want Dawn to be responsible, to know the difference between using her power to send Saaro back home and looking for someone else to make her troubles go away instead of actually dealing with them herself. And that wasn't even considering the possible repercussions she might incur in her attempt to, for all intents and purposes, break into heaven.

It felt like the hardest thing she'd ever done, but Dawn forced herself to abandon her plan. She took the picture in her hands again and traced her fingers over the smooth contours of her mother's face, tears rolling down her cheeks. In a way, it felt almost like she'd just lost her again in abandoning the idea of reaching out to find her, but she knew it was the right choice. And those, Dawn had come to understand, weren't always supposed to be easy.

Still looking down at the photograph, Dawn suddenly felt the warm, gentle pressure of a comforting hand on her shoulder, but when she looked around, no one was there. She turned slowly to gaze back at the picture in her hands again, a small smile forming on her lips. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered.

†

Buffy emerged at last on the ground floor, her grin still firmly in place as she walked past Giles, Willow, Oz, and Xander, all of whom were slightly dazed to see the crowd of people taking up much of the rest of the space in the room.

"What's up, B? Giles called and said he thought you guys might be needing some serious backup," said a very amused looking Faith Lehane from the forefront of the sea of unfamiliar faces. Robin Wood stood at her right, his arm draped lightly around her shoulders.

"Oh, you know, apocalypse," said Buffy with a casual shrug. "So, pretty much the usual; nothing too serious."

"Any chance it'll wait until the jet-lag wears off?" asked Wood dryly.

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Faith, looking up at him. "It's been way too long already since we had any hardcore demon fighting. The ones in Europe have pretty much all been pansies so far."

"You want the non-pansy variety, you're in the right town now," said Oz.

"Think you're up for some basic patrolling tonight?" asked Buffy.

"After that plane ride? _Hell_ yes!" said Faith. "You girls ready to party?" she asked loudly over her shoulder. This was met by a loud chorus of enthusiasm from all eighty or so of the Slayers arrayed behind her.

* * *

Nyx returns! I love her personality. My favorite part was her destroying the huge awesome TV to get everyone to shut up. Should make life with more than twice as many Slayers as there are beds _much_ more bearable. Heh. Now then. Dawn's story line for this one. Wanting to open a doorway to whatever heavenly dimension Joyce is in. Well, if you had that power, wouldn't you be tempted to try finding lost loved ones that way? Then we have Kaida, who is pretty much there as an id/foil, to force Dawn into the more responsible roles of ego and super-ego. Without Kaida to represent how power can veer off into gratification and indulgence if left unchecked, Dawn would have undoubtedly let herself get carried away. Instead she sees someone else's reaction to power, and can come in and fix it before it gets out of control. Then, when she's _still _about to abuse her own power, she has that earlier wisdom to stop her. And is rewarded by actually getting comfort from Joyce after all. Yes, that _was_ Joyce. Dawn's story in this chapter actually fits in rather well with Buffy's, especially with the First impersonating Joyce there on the roof. And now we get Faith, Wood, and a very large number of reinforcement Slayers added to the mix. Do we sense the final showdown drawing nigh? Hehe. And again with the references, because the last episode was sad with just _Catch-22_. Points to you if you caught the _Spider-Man_ one, and even more if you caught the _Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time_ one.


	19. 8x20: Allies

Episode 20: Allies

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Buffy caught the fist coming straight at her face, pulled, stepped beneath the still outstretched arm, and sent her opponent flying over her shoulder to slam into the padded floor. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet while Faith flipped herself back onto hers, and she almost wanted to laugh as she realized that this was the first time the two of them had fought each other _without_ intending actual harm. While she moved with the rhythms of the sparring match, her thoughts traveled back to their conversation after patrol the night Faith, Wood, and the many European Slayers had arrived.

_"So how's Europe been treating you?"_

_"Fun places, B. We help you guys finish off here, you should think about coming along," said Faith. Their breath misted the air in front of them, but the discovery of a demon lair and the fight that followed had warmed them up enough that they hardly noticed the cold._

_"My goal?" said Buffy, "Pretty much to give an actually permanent note of finality to the deal with the First, and then I'm westward bound." Dawn's and Angel's faces flashed through her mind, and that same thrill of determination she had felt when she stepped onto the plane that would take her away from them coursed through her once more. Nothing, not even the First Evil and its army, was going to stop her from seeing them again._

Faith blocked the flurry of punches Buffy sent her way, then returned with her own, the last of which caught Buffy across the jaw. Her head snapped a few inches sideways from the blow, but she recovered and swung her right leg up in a forceful kick.

_"How's kid sis' doing?" asked Faith curiously._

_"Well, it's been a whole month since she hinted that she'd very much rather be here than in Palo Alto, so I think she's doing all right."_

_Faith laughed. "Can't just be the schoolwork and stuff behind that."_

_"Nope. I'm seeing a pretty solid inverse relationship between how often she asks to come here and how long she goes on about Connor Reilly."_

_"Ah," said Faith, smirking, "So she did manage to score a stud, then. Nice. And Xander with my Scottish apprentice, Willow back with Oz…," she trailed off, looking down at her left hand. _

_Buffy followed her gaze, and her eyes went very wide when she saw what was sparkling on the ring finger._

Faith dodged sideways just in time to avoid the incoming kick, then grabbed Buffy's leg before she could pull back and twisted to send her spinning down to the mat. Buffy seized Faith's arm while still airborne and used her weight to bring her tumbling down as well.

_"Is that what I think it is?" she gasped, only managing to keep her jaw from dropping by a strong conscious effort._

_"If what you're thinking is 'engagement ring', then, yup," said Faith. She sounded a little surprised herself._

_"You do realize that now I have to completely throw out my understanding of the universe and start from scratch, right?" asked Buffy weakly. _

_Faith laughed again. __"If it helps, I ain't planning on wearing any kind of fluffy white dress for the thing. White? Strictly banned from my color scheme."_

Faith rolled backwards, using a reverse somersault both to get up and maintain distance while Buffy scissor kicked herself back upright, and they faced each other again.

_"Congratulations," said Buffy. She was still reeling, and it was audible in her voice. "H-how did it happen?" she stammered, hoping that a little backstory might help it make sense. _

_Faith hesitated for a moment, as if she too was still trying to work that one out. __"I dunno, B," she said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat, "We hit Europe, and after a couple of months—well, it was pretty much the longest relationship I've ever been in, and it kinda threw me. Robin and I started fighting a lot, about just stupid stuff. After that, we went our separate ways, cooled down, and focused on finding all the rookies. But then we met back up in Italy around New Year's. He wanted another shot at 'us', took me to Venice for a moonlit gondola ride, and...I guess I kinda realized what I had. Something really just..._right_. Pretty much a first in all categories for me, and I didn't want that to go away. Not ever. So, when he asked, I said yes."_

_"Congratulations," Buffy said again, this time with complete sincerity._

_"Hey, you do much more of that, you'll find yourself maid of honor," Faith threatened jokingly._

_"As long as you don't stick me in a radioactive dress..."_

Buffy deftly blocked and dodged a combination of punches and kicks, only for Faith to accomplish the same when Buffy retook the offensive. Both of them were now panting heavily and feeling their muscles burn in protestation, but neither wanted to be the first one to suggest stopping.

_"So what about you? You got somebody?" _

_Buffy looked down. She knew who she _wanted_ to have. Who she ached for, body and soul. Whose cross necklace she'd worn every day since removing it and the other precious items from that chest—but there had been barriers between them long before the physical distance of twenty-three hundred miles became a factor. Willow had Oz, Dawn had Connor, Xander had Renée, and Faith had Robin…all of that only threw what Buffy lacked into sharper relief. Sure, she was happy for them, even Faith; her fellow veteran Slayer certainly wasn't wrong about it being one of the few things to work out in her life. All the same, Buffy felt the loneliness pressing in on her, and knew that no amount of ice cream and old movies could keep it completely at bay. _

Even now, as they continued to spar, Buffy had trouble wrapping her mind around it. Faith was getting married. _Faith_ was getting _married._ Buffy remembered all too well the days of "get some, get gone" and their consequences, and it had never occurred to her that those days might be numbered. But apart from being completely unexpected, it also seemed like cruel irony. For the first time since the earliest days of their acquaintance, Buffy was jealous of Faith.

†

"Aha!" said Giles triumphantly. "Something here at last!"

"Well, that book gets points for dramatic timing," Xander remarked dully. "What've we got?"

"Nyx mentioned necromancers. We've spent so much of our time researching the Hellmouth and the First that we forgot that rather significant detail."

"Right," said Oz. "She said they were the ones controlling the zombie Slayers."

"Exactly," said Giles. "We've not encountered much in the way of necromancy before, and I've only caught passing references to it in my many years studying the paranormal. The craft is rather obscure, and those who practice it are typically prone to very guarded secrecy. Of course, with this book, I can happily cheat."

"And you think you've found the Achilles' heel?" said Renée hopefully.

"Possibly," said Giles, readjusting his glasses and looking more closely at the text. "It depends on what kind of necromancy we're dealing with. The reanimated Slayers, as far as I can gather, are essentially drones. That rules out forms of the craft involving using corpses as hosts for demons or spirits to inhabit. From what I've read, the army of dead Slayers is something that's never been done before in any sense, so I'm not sure the normal rules apply. However, it would appear that the form of necromancy in effect here casts the necromancer as the manipulator and corpses as the marionettes. Nyx's, er, aversion to the situation as a whole lends a great deal of credence to this scenario."

"And the manipulators are hopefully less indestructible than the marionettes?" asked Xander.

"Precisely. At the heart of all necromancy lies a living element: the necromancer himself."

"So, we go for the heart," said Oz.

"Well that's it! Let's tell Buffy. Assemble the troops," said Xander, standing up.

"We'll have to wait for her to get back," said Giles.

"Yeah," said Oz, "she and Willow are kinda elsewhere right now, working on the other problem."

†

Buffy and Willow opened their eyes and looked around apprehensively. The clouds roiling above them were angry and black. Thunder and lightning boomed and flashed, disrupting the eerie quiet the place had once had, and the wind whipped around the towering pillars of sandstone, tugging at their hair and clothing. All the same, everything froze in place after a few seconds just like before, pausing one of the bolts of lightning mid-strike.

"Okay…where's the kitty?" asked Willow in the sudden stillness.

"I don't know," said Buffy. "Maybe we shouldn't have come."

They walked forward to the two largest sandstone formations and abruptly stopped. Between them lay the giant tiger. Its breathing was shallow and labored, and it looked thinner than before. "Welcome," it said. Though its eyes had lost a little of their piercing blue fire, the bone-deep resonating power of its voice was the same as ever.

"What happened to you? To this place?" asked Willow in pity, wanting to approach the great feline, but refraining. Could she even perform healing magic here?

"My state of being, as well as that of this plane, is directly linked to the Slayer line. When your spell caused all of the potential Slayers to become chosen, I grew and changed as it did, and so did my home. But ever since the First Evil began to employ the former Slayers to kill the current ones, it turned the line against itself. The effect here is what you would call an illness, as when a body attacks its own cells." With what seemed a great effort, it heaved itself to its feet.

"Then you already know why we're here," said Buffy.

"Yes. You wish to stop the First Evil and lay your predecessors back to rest."

"How do we do that?" she asked.

"You are seeking to destroy that which has existed as long as existence, which has stained and polluted your world since before its earliest dawn. Such an ambition is not easily realized."

"Not easily, but not impossibly either, right?" asked Willow hopefully.

"The answer you seek lies in your own past," it replied, unleashing the full, blazing intensity of its stare on them. "You have the power and the instrument, and you have used both before. But time is short. At all costs you must prevent the First Evil from reawakening the Hellmouth. Even you, with your considerable experience, can have no idea of the consequences if its plans come to fruition and that scar is reopened." Buffy and Willow both felt involuntary shivers running up their spines, but said nothing. "Now go. You are needed."

They glanced at each other, reaching out to clasp hands and return to consciousness, but Buffy hesitated, and her gaze whipped back around to lock firmly with the tiger's again. "We _will_ defeat the First," she said, her words so forceful that they seemed to have physical weight. "We'll heal you and this plane."

For a moment, it merely stared back at her, but then its knees bent and it sank in a deep bow. "Thank you."

†

Dawn was about to walk into Intro to Law when her phone rang. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was Connor. Wondering what this was about, she flipped the device open.

"Hey," she said.

"Guess who came and sat with me at the café just now," he said. Dawn opened her mouth to do the guessing part, but Connor didn't give her time. "My dad."

"Your dad? Wait, as in, Angel? Why?" she asked, bewildered.

"He just…talked to me," said Connor. "Asked me how I was doing. I told him about that internship I'm applying for, and he offered to help. Not like he's got _any_ experience with that stuff." He sounded amused. "And I told him I know he's my father. That I'm grateful for what he did."

Dawn smiled fondly, before she remembered the first part of what he'd said and became deeply suspicious. "He drove five hours, in the middle of this very sunny day, just to ask you how it's going?"

"I know. Well, actually, he probably just took the helicopter, but still, something's up. Something big. I'm already on my way there."

"Wait, _what?_" she asked, her voice going up about half an octave. "On your way to L.A.?"

"Yeah," he said.

"What about me?"

"I still don't know what's going on. Knowing Angel, it's probably the end of the world. I don't want you getting mixed up in it."

"Now you sound like my sister!" Dawn protested. "How am I supposed to just keep sitting tight when everyone I care about is headed for unknown peril?" Unhelpfully, her phone chose that precise moment to lose its last bar of battery life, and the call abruptly ended. With a loud noise of frustration, she shoved the stupid device back in her bag and ducked as inconspicuously as possible away from the classroom, hoping she had enough money in her wallet for the bus ticket.

†

"Any flashes of insight on this end while we were up there?" asked Willow after she and Buffy returned from their room.

"Actually, yes," said Giles.

"He thinks the zombies can be taken out by killing the guys controlling them," said Xander.

"Well, it's definitely a start," said Buffy. "Only problem is getting to them before their zombie slaves kill us first."

"What'd you guys find out?" asked Oz.

"Fun cryptic-ness from sick big kitty," said Buffy in irritation.

"Yeah," said Willow, "it said the answer lies in our past. That we have the power and the instrument, and we've used them before."

"What does that mean?" asked Xander.

"I dunno," said Buffy. "But I think the instrument is probably the Scythe."

"It is pretty much the Excalibur for Slayers," Oz agreed.

"Exactly," said Buffy, "but the power?"

"Something you guys have used to take out another big bad?" suggested Oz.

"Well, even with the Scythe, you still can't touch the First, so you can't stake it like you did the Master, or beat the crap out of it like with Glory," said Xander.

"Or stab it to banish it to a hell dimension or blow it up," said Buffy resignedly.

"Or use all of our essences together to go at it," said Willow. Giles looked at her, his forehead creased with the intensity of his stare. "What?" she asked somewhat uncomfortably.

"Assuming we made the _hand_ the vessel as we did then, of course," he said, still staring at Willow.

"Huh?" asked Xander. Oz was similarly perplexed by this, but Buffy's and Willow's eyes had widened in comprehension.

†

"Have y'all been hearing Giles and everyone?" asked Megan in a rather conspiratorial whisper.

"About how tonight's gonna be the big showdown?" said Vi, a slight edge of apprehension creeping into her voice.

"Finally," grumbled Kat, "Then maybe the Euro-Slayers will go home and we can go back to being two to a room again. This place is way too crowded." This sentiment was definitely shared unanimously among the group—except by Alex, who was still fortunate enough to be living at home.

"Kinda saw it coming," said Laurel. "I mean, with the help of the exchange students, we've pretty much cleaned out the city. Only supernatural badness left is the First and its zombie Slayers."

"Which are stronger than every demon we've faced here with their hands tied behind their backs," Rona added.

"We're going to defeat them," said Clare confidently.

"How do you know?" Rona retorted heatedly. "Just because our self-appointed leader thinks so?"

"What, you think _you_ could do a better job leading than Buffy?" asked Alex with biting skepticism.

"Who says we need a leader at all?" asked Emily. "We're all the same. Why should any of us get to be in charge?"

Rona nodded.

"None of _us_ should," said Erin. She took a puff from her inhaler before continuing. "We've been in the game less than a year. Buffy's been doing this for nine. If it weren't for her, we wouldn't be here in the first place. We wouldn't have been able to kill all of those demons and make this city a whole lot safer."

"Yeah, guys, if it's a coup d'état you're looking for, count me out," said Vi. "I'm with Buffy." Her words were met with many firm nods of agreement, leaving Rona and Emily to exchange defeated glances as they realized that they would not get any support.

"So, anyone else up for last-minute training?" asked Alex.

"What, like, cramming for the apocalypse?" snorted Sarah.

"No such thing as being over-prepared, right?"

†

Dawn looked around nervously, clutching her bag rather tightly as she boarded the bus and made for a vacant row of seats near the back, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers. She sat down and fixed her gaze out of the window. A nagging voice at the back of her head told her she should still be in school like a good girl, but it was quickly silenced by the much larger part of her that knew she was going to be right beside Connor through whatever he was about to face.

"What's up?" came a familiar voice as she felt the seat next to her depress with the weight of someone occupying it.

"Kaida?" said Dawn in bewilderment, her head whipping around to face her classmate. "Why are you here?"

"Saw you sneaking out of class," she said, shrugging. "You never sneak out of class, so I figured it had to be for something interesting."

"It's probably gonna be dangerous," said Dawn warningly.

"Yeah, and that's the point."

Dawn raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, come on, I've got the ability to barbeque things by poking them!" said Kaida. "It makes a girl restless. So, if there's even a little chance that this excursion of yours is gonna put you up against some of those demon things you told me about, then I'm in. It'll be nice to let loose some of the firepower in a way that can't eventually involve getting slammed with an arson charge."

"Just as long as you're careful." As much as it annoyed Dawn when other people did it to her, she was feeling a strong urge to tell Kaida that she couldn't come; it wasn't safe. She curbed the impulse, however, thinking that it would be stupid to dismiss such a willing and powerful ally in a situation like this.

†

The rapidly waning day saw the Slayers training harder than ever within headquarters. Despite differences of language, age, and race, they had never been as unified in their calling and their wordless but almost palpable determination to fulfill it as they were now. To them, the possibility of failure in the looming battle seemed remote and laughable against the sheer force they presented.

Willow, in hopes of quelling her nervously writhing stomach, approached Oz, who had been strumming idly at his guitar for at least an hour while she was out getting the supplies they would need to execute their plan.

Oz looked up to see her standing before him with such a tender expression on her face that he felt his heart melt. He set the guitar aside and stood, not bothering with a precursor and instead skipping straight to the part where he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her slender form against him, and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her fingers combing through his hair as they kissed fiercely. Not even that first kiss in December after he played her song could compare with this. They leaned their foreheads together when they paused to draw long overdue breath, eyes still closed.

"You're worried," he stated quietly.

"That obvious?" she asked.

"There are signs," he said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Oz, what if it's too much?"

"It won't be. You've got this."

She couldn't suppress a smile when she spoke again. "Are you sure?"

He realized where she was going with this and his smirk broadened. "I sound pretty sure, don't I?" They opened their eyes and pulled back far enough for them to look at each other.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, then I must be sure." His expression became more serious. "I'm going down there with you."

"It's kinda bad timing for that, isn't it?" she asked. The moon was little more than a sliver of silver in the sky. Besides, both of them in the battle rather steepened the odds against both of them also surviving it in her mind. Did they really have to tempt Fate like that?

"I've never been big on timeliness," he said.

"I love you, Oz," said Willow, and his spirit soared at the clear and simple sincerity of that sentence. "I don't want to lose you again."

"Then that works out pretty well, because I'm not going anywhere." He gently cupped her face in his hands. "You're my whole world, Willow. I love you so much."

†

Two floors down, in the training room, Xander carefully wended his way between sparring pairs to where Renée was about to lift her claymore from its pegs on the wall. She turned in time to see him approaching and left the sword where it was, feeling her heart speeding up and her brain starting to jam. This happened so often when he was around, though, that she was almost used to it by now.

"Gearing up?" he asked.

"Aye," she said. "Cannae be long now, can it?"

"No," he agreed. "Actually, I think Buffy was about to start her call-to-arms speech. So, feel ready?"

"As ready as I can for this being my first apocalypse." She smiled, and he forced himself to smile back. It was a rather difficult feat, as his memory was bombarding him with scenes from Sunnydale's last day. Losing Anya had almost destroyed him. If he had to go through that again with Renée, he didn't think he'd survive.

Renée was having a rather different mental dilemma. She wanted to kiss him. Not because she was afraid this would be her last opportunity to do so—no, she was refusing to think like that—but perhaps as a good luck charm for them both to get through the fight. Finally, she felt like she had worked up enough courage to do it, but before she could move closer to him, Faith appeared at the bottom of the stairs and called everyone up, and Renée's resolve shattered.

"See you on the other side," said Xander, taking the claymore down and handing it to her before they followed the crowd of Slayers up to the first floor.

†

It took a little over ten minutes to gather everyone there. Oz stood by Willow's side in wolf form at the front of the crowd. He had found transforming by mere force of will rather simple after that moment with Willow. Bladed weapons of all shapes and sizes glinted at the sides of all the waiting Slayers. All faces were turned to Buffy.

"This is it," she began, looking slowly around at them. "Last May, we changed the way Destiny works. We don't have to wait in line to be chosen anymore. We don't have to wait for someone to die before it's our turn to fight the good fight. No. What we have to do is harder. We have to choose if that fight is still something worth dying for. If you don't think it is, I don't want you down there, because the _only_ way you'll survive is if you know with _everything_ in you that this fight is more important than you or me or any of us. We're the front lines. The warriors of this world, here to stop the demons from making it theirs. And they would. You give them an inch of slack and they'll destroy you.

"Not only are we fighting for the world; tonight we're fighting to keep this legacy going. We're fighting things that used to be us. The women whose lives we've seen in our dreams. Some we knew in person." Her gaze paused on Robin Wood, whose jaw was set. "But that's not what these things are. You can't hesitate just because they look familiar, or you'll end up joining them. You will honor them tonight; live up to the heritage you're all a part of now.

"So here's the plan. We go down to the Hellmouth. The First's army will be there. We send in the flamethrowers first to clear the zombie Slayers out of the way long enough to get to the real target: the necromancers. Considering how well they've been guarding it, we're pretty sure these guys are in the second chamber of the cave. It's a narrow passage. Faith is going to lead you in with another flamethrower, and once you find the necromancers, take them out as quickly as possible. With no one pulling the strings, the reanimated Slayers can get back to resting in peace. They're going to figure out what we're up to pretty quick, though, and they'll come at us full strength. But even if we do defeat this army, it won't be enough. As long as the First exists, it will only keep coming back. It wants to reopen this Hellmouth, and if we don't finish it tonight, it might eventually succeed, and then it's over. Thing is, we _are_ going to finish it. So whoever's with me, let's go."

Five minutes later, the phone by the computer desks rang, its tone harsh and shrill, but the sound reverberated around the room with no one there to hear it. Every last one of them had followed Buffy out into the night.

†

In a sprawling eighteenth floor office at the opposite end of the country, Mr. Roarke drummed the fingers of his right hand on the polished wood of his desk. Something was going on. Something the Senior Partners didn't seem to want to share with anyone but their precious Los Angeles branch. It wasn't anything new, of course. All of the other branches were equally aware and resentful of the imbalance that only seemed to grow more pronounced each year. In fact, he had just finished a teleconference with the CEOs of branches from New York to Rome to Tokyo, and it was the same across the board.

His gaze fell on his coffee mug and he reached out almost subconsciously to shift it to where the handle was exactly parallel with the edge of the desk. Such obsessive-compulsive tendencies rarely manifested unless he was nervous, and denying that he was nervous now would have been a downright lie. It helped a little that the fiasco of Miss Branston's failed attempt to secure the Key to give San Francisco the edge in the firm had, at least, been smoothed over. All involved had been disposed of with Mr. Roarke sitting comfortably atop his cushion of plausible deniability, and the whole thing was forgotten within a week. All the same, he couldn't shake that sense of foreboding.

Over the next few minutes, he fell into a deep reverie, his thoughts coiling and twisting with half-formed schemes to wedge his branch into the prominence it deserved. This wishful thinking was soon interrupted however, as the screen he had used for the teleconference lit up again of its own accord. His insides turned cold and all of those plots died in his head as he read the short, blunt message upon it in large, bold, rigid lettering: "Final Directive: Phase I. Effective Immediately."

Even while his eyes were passing over the words again, Mr. Roarke felt the floor tremble beneath his expensive chair, and the surface of his coffee broke into miniature churning waves. He stood abruptly, turned, walked to the minibar in the corner, seized the previously untouched whiskey bottle, removed the top, pressed the glass lip to his mouth, and began to relentlessly pour the burning liquid down his throat.

In general, he was a very levelheaded man—one, moreover, who had never gotten drunk in his life. However, in light of the message blaring across the screen, the increasingly violent tremors shaking the building, and the distant sounds of the screams of his more ambitious subordinates still in the building this late, he was now determined to get himself completely wasted.

The Final Directive. It had never been ordered on this dimension, and was rarely spoken of. It came directly from the Senior Partners, and was only used when an astronomical amount of power was needed and all other means of obtaining it were utterly impossible. It was a consolidation—a _sacrifice_—of _all_ of the firm's resources on the dimension in question as the price to bring forth a juggernaut that would carry out the ultimate ends of the Partners in one fell swoop. Not even Mr. Roarke's twenty-eight long years with the firm could shield him from it. It was this knowledge that he was now attempting to drown as he continued to gulp down the whiskey as a man dying of thirst would gulp water.

Within moments, the air then became filled with the earsplitting sounds of groaning metal, all of the lights went out at once, and, after an almighty shudder, the ceiling of Mr. Roarke's office caved, along with the rest of the massive building, taking him and everyone else inside with it.

†

"So, where are we going, exactly?" asked Kaida, hurrying to keep up with Dawn, whose pace was somewhere between walking and jogging as they headed along the dark street. Thick, ominous clouds were forming across the sky, illuminated by the bright city lights. It might have been their imaginations, but clouds seemed to get visibly angrier by the second, though the storm had yet to begin.

"Wofram and Hart," said Dawn.

"You mean the place that sent lawyer lady to Slovak's class? Why are we going to a law firm?"

"Because it's where Connor probably went. They've got a branch here, and Connor's real dad is the CEO."

"Is that a good thing?" Kaida was having trouble keeping up with all of the features of the crazy world Dawn was introducing her to.

"No. Evil law firm. Kidnapped me a couple of weeks ago, but I got away."

"Does that make Connor's dad evil?"

"No! He's a vampire, but he's a good guy," said Dawn distractedly, as she was more concerned with reading the street signs and remembering which way to go. "And he and my sister have this whole big star-crossed lovers thing going on."

Kaida stopped. "Wait. So your boyfriend is the son of a vampire who's involved with your sister?"

"_Was _involved. Or—well, nobody's really sure what's up with them now," said Dawn, frowning. "Of course, him being here and her being in Ohio kinda points to the 'was,' but it's hard to tell. And there are circumstances."

"You guys should like make a soap opera of your lives or something," said Kaida with a snort.

"We're probably gonna do a comic book, actually," Dawn admitted vaguely. She rounded the corner to head up the final street between them and Wolfram and Hart, when she promptly crashed into Connor. The impact nearly caused her to fall over, but he managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Dawn?" he asked in bewilderment, setting her back on her feet. "What are you doing here?"

Dawn ignored this, as the light of the street lamp illuminated his face, which was bruised and bloody. "What happened to you?" she said, brushing some of the thick, chalky dust that covered him off of his shoulders and gingerly touching his face.

Kaida averted her gaze, looking past them to the other end of the street, where a colossal building seemed to have been reduced to rubble. Rather recently, too, she guessed, considering the large cloud of dust in the air above it, which was the same color as the stuff all over Connor.

"I got here and found Angel about to get staked by this big lawyer guy. I helped him fight, got hit a lot and thrown against an elevator door, but Angel killed him. And then the building collapsed." He rolled his right shoulder and flexed his arm a bit, wincing, until he noticed Dawn's still worried look. "I'll be fine," he assured her.

"Does this mean we missed the fight?" asked Kaida, disappointed.

"We're not fighting. Angel said to go home," said Connor.

"What? But what's going on? He wouldn't tell you that if something really bad wasn't about to happen," said Dawn.

"Yeah, which is why I'm getting both of you out of here." He paused, looking at Kaida's and Dawn's mutinous expressions. "Wait, who are you, anyway?"

"Kaida," she said.

"I told you about her," said Dawn.

Kaida held up a hand, and a fireball exploded into existence above her palm.

"Oh, yeah, fire girl," said Connor, impressed. "Cool. Or, well, figuratively, I guess." He turned and began walking the way they had just come, catching hold of Dawn's hand as he went.

"Wait," she protested, "where are we going?"

"Back to the bus station. Come on," he said.

"You really think it's that bad, don't you?" she asked, her stomach contracting.

"I really do."

†

Connor, Dawn, and Kaida arrived at the bus station shortly thereafter, hearing the thunder rumbling overhead, but still no rain. It would come, though, and soon. They made their way over towards where the bus they needed to board would arrive.

"Explain to me why five more hours on a bus is a better scenario than helping his dad out of whatever he's gotten himself into?" grumbled Kaida once the three of them had settled onto a bench. Neither Connor nor Dawn answered. Inwardly, they were both wondering the same thing. They sat in stiff silence for a moment.

"I'm gonna go get something for us to eat on the way," said Connor, standing up.

"I'll come too," said Dawn. She looked uncertainly at Kaida, who gave an indifferent shrug and took to staring into space, her elbows propped on her knees and her chin resting on her hands. Connor and Dawn turned to go, but they ran into someone going the other way.

"Sorry," said Dawn. The man mumbled something and shuffled off quickly. Connor frowned and turned to get a better look at him.

"Hey!" he called loudly, as the other had all but vanished among the clusters of people here and there already. He didn't turn. Dawn's gaze went back and forth to look from the guy she'd hit to Connor, who left her side to run after him. It was hard to tell under the very dim lights of the station, but she thought the man's skin beneath his hat looked a little odd. Green, even.

"Lorne!" Connor shouted. His quarry turned. Dawn caught up with Connor, Kaida appearing at her shoulder as she did.

"Have we met?" he asked Connor. Now that she was seeing him up close, Dawn knew she had been right. Green skin, red eyes, and she even thought that, beneath the shadow of his hat, she could see horns poking up from just below his hairline.

"Is this one of those demon guys?" asked Kaida, rather loudly, her tone a mixture of fascination and contempt.

"Yeah, and he's a friend." There was an unspoken "so back off" in the way Connor said it, making Kaida feel rather sheepish.

"Well, that's nice of you," said Lorne in a rather listless tone, before scrutinizing Connor's face for a moment, "but—wait, I _do_ know you. You and your parents came to Wolfram and Hart about a month ago, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Connor, smiling a little. "Hi."

"Oh, does that mean you know Angel?" asked Dawn suddenly. Lorne's gaze jumped to her instead. He looked so dejected and hopeless that she felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him. "What's happening?" she asked desperately.

"Look, kittens, I can see that you want to help, but you'd do much better to just go home. If you'll excuse me, I've got a bus to catch." He turned and began to walk slowly away, his head low.

"We have to do something, Connor," Dawn pleaded. Connor thought for a moment, then caved. He went after Lorne, who hadn't gone far yet, and did quite possibly the last thing Dawn had expected: he _burst into song_.

"Carry on my wayward son," he sang with unabashed gusto, "there'll be peace when you are done." He wasn't actually an entirely worthless singer, and Dawn felt herself go strangely weak in the knees, deaf to Kaida's loud snickers. On the first note, Lorne had gone rigid, slowly turning back to face Connor, his eyes very round. Connor looked over his shoulder at Dawn. "Sing something," he said.

She felt the heat rising in her face, but she managed a smirk as the perfect song came to her. "I need a hero; I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night," she sang as enthusiastically as she could manage, then stopped, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Lorne's eyes, if it was possible, had gone even wider. "Where's a sea breeze when you need one?" he asked feebly. "Or fifty."

"What just happened?" asked Kaida.

"He can see stuff about you when you sing," Connor said, shrugging. "Figured it would be a lot quicker than explaining the situation."

"Try a lot _too_ quick, kiddo," said Lorne, sounding winded. "Give me a second to process the memory reboot and everything else I just got from you two." He looked back at Dawn, still thoroughly shocked, then shook his head to clear it. "Okay, first of all, you're heading the wrong direction."

"Huh?" asked Dawn.

"You _are_ supposed to be in this," he clarified. "But you're going to need help."

"Where do we find that?" asked Connor. "The only other people we—_oh._" He broke off with every appearance of the mental light bulb clicking on.

"Good job," said Lorne, nodding, before turning his attention to Kaida. "Got a little background on you from Bonnie Tyler here. How do you feel about running to a nondescript tenement downtown?"

"Way better than I would about getting on a bus," she said, her face shining with eager curiosity.

"Good girl. And last, but by no means least," he turned back to Dawn. Before he spoke, he let out a low groan, as if he would have given anything not to have to say this. "In the spirit of allowing Karma to take its large, well-earned chunk out of me, I'm gonna have to come with you for this."

"Come with me where?" asked Dawn uncertainly.

"The one place I'd rather eat a salad of broken glass and nails than go."

* * *

The split-screen opener between Buffy and Faith sparring and their conversation about Faith being engaged. I thought it was a fun setup. More importantly, Faith being engaged. I very much enjoyed the Faith/Wood dynamic on the show, so I'm keeping it. I mean, seriously, Wood is insanely awesome. If I were Faith and I got taken on a moonlit gondola ride in Venice, and the guy proposed, I'd probably say yes so enthusiastically that it would send us overboard and into the canal. But that wasn't the only point of Faith's diamond ring. It really is the ultimate jab at Buffy's currently single status, and there was no way I was letting that kind of opportunity slip away. Xander and Renée fail to kiss yet again. Part of my desired effect with Buffy's big speech was to have it in the same sort of vein as the champion speeches Angel gives. And then they're off towards the cave...and that's the last mention of them this episode. Sorry about that, but the timing of everything was crucial. The phone call needed to happen precisely after they left, but before everything else. That might give away who called. Have a guess at it anyway. The bit with Mr. Roarke that ends with the collapse of W&H: San Francisco. I wanted to show through this branch that the wrath visited upon Angel for taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn cost W&H quite a bit. So I came up with the "final directive". It would be safe to assume that every other W&H office on Earth collapsed at the same time. As Mr. Roarke's internal monologue explained, that was the price for what they are about to unleash in L.A. Dawn and Kaida running into post-Hamilton fight Connor. You see how restrictive this timeline is? Maddening. But so worth it. At least, to me it is. And then running into Lorne. If you didn't get it, Lorne was referring to Dawn when he mentioned Bonnie Tyler, who was the one who sang the original version of that song on _Footloose. _Of course Lorne would know that. Also, I hope you noticed how depressed he was acting, because this is post-him shooting Lindsey. Which was horrible, even if the man was an evil git. Like how Lilah dying was awful. Dang. I love how we even care about the villains on these shows... Huh. I've pretty much all but merged the two shows by this point, which I'm sure you noticed. So! Any guesses on who Connor, Kaida, and Dawn are off to get for their reinforcements? I think Connor's might be the hardest to guess, but have a go anyway.


	20. 8x21: Storm

Episode 21: Storm

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

The only sounds that were made by the army of Slayers filing three-by-three down the spiraling tunnel came from the treads of their shoes against the stone floor and the clink of metal from the armory they collectively wielded. Buffy and Faith walked at the very head of the group, the former carrying the Scythe and the latter the original flamethrower Liz had left them.

Somehow, the tunnel seemed much longer than it had the last time Buffy had gone down it, but that probably had something to do with the way her insides were squirming like eels from the nerves she had buried while giving her speech, but which were now refusing to be quelled. She could feel Willow, Xander, and Giles, along with Oz, Renée, and Wood behind her, and their presence afforded her the added measure of reassurance she needed to keep walking.

About halfway down, it occurred to Buffy that the passageway was very narrow, and if the First anticipated their arrival, there was every chance that the zombie Slayers would be waiting at the mouth of the tunnel to pick them off. Fortunately, this didn't seem to be the case, for they all emerged into the cavern with the broken Seal unhindered.

But that was the only head start they got. Across the cavern from them, the First's army was also pouring out, and the number of dead Slayers there now matched that of those living. Buffy and Faith glanced at each other and exchanged a nod, before the dark-haired Slayer raised her flamethrower and led their younger fellows forward, while Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Giles veered off towards a spot farthest from the reanimated army, where they sat in a circle, Buffy with the Scythe across her lap. Willow emptied her bag, pulling out a large hollow gourd carved with magical runes, four candles, and a deck of Tarot cards. Xander quickly set about arranging the gourd and candles.

Giles looked at Willow. "Are you quite sure you're ready for this?" he asked. They could hear the shouts as the battle began between the two Slayer armies, and felt the wave of stifling heat from the flamethrowers.

"Yeah," said Willow after a deep breath. "Just don't make me think too hard about it."

"Right." They smiled at each other.

"We're with you the whole way, Wil," said Xander.

"I know." With that, Willow closed her eyes and concentrated hard.

"From the northern winds: air. From the eastern ocean: water. From the southern plains: earth. From the western sun: fire. Elements and directions four, protect us, I implore thee." The same protective diamond she had barricaded herself within in January immediately formed around them, and they felt a small amount of their tension vanish.

Buffy pulled a lighter from the bag and lit the four candles between them. "Here we go," she said, exchanging a glance with Willow before they focused on the task at hand.

†

A low rumble of thunder accompanied the first drops of rain to fall on Los Angeles. Citizens rushed to get off the streets and out of the unexpected storm before it could get much worse. Moments after the resultant traffic had begun to thin back to a trickle, a faint greenish glow appeared about four feet above the ground. Before long, it had widened into a ring over five feet in diameter, and Dawn emerged. Close behind her came Lorne and two people who could only be described as medieval warriors. The first was a demon like Lorne, and the second was human. Both were powerfully built, dressed in full armor, and wielding long, sharp swords.

Dawn closed the interdimensional doorway behind them, hissing the air through her teeth in pain as she finished and withdrew her hand, which was once again bleeding from the fingernails.

"Okay, not that your crazy dancing brother wasn't hilarious, but is it okay if we never go there again?" she asked.

"It is so much more than okay that I can't think of a word for it," said Lorne, cringing. No matter how awful, guilty, and depressed he felt, he could always count on a visit to Pylea to make it several times worse.

"Where is the battle, for which Angel and his comrades require our assistance?" inquired the human warrior eagerly.

"Ah, still coming, Groo," said Lorne. "But it won't be long now, which makes this my cue to blow Dodge."

"You're leaving?" asked Dawn, surprised.

"Oh, I've done my part, honey. The Groosalugg and Landok here, though? Willing and much more able than I."

"Come, Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, this is the moment to redeem yourself of your cowardice! Would you forfeit such an opportunity?" said Landok in disbelief.

"It'll have to wait until another day for me," he said.

"Then farewell, my friend," said Groo, putting a hand stoutly on Lorne's shoulder.

After a few more goodbyes, Lorne pointed them in the right direction, and then he was gone. Seconds after his trench coat clad back had disappeared into the rainy distance, Connor arrived with a small crowd of people in tow, which seemed to be about evenly split into two groups. One was comprised primarily of black men, and the other was an assortment of rather battle scarred looking men and women. All of them bore minor signs of living primarily on the streets, but also of being very capable of handling themselves in a fight—an inference greatly supported by the weapons they carried. Flanking Connor on either side were clearly the leaders of both groups. One was a thin woman with dark red hair and a permanently hardened expression and the other was a black man of about Connor's height, whose good-natured features seemed to have long since acquired a certain battle-weariness. Both of them had crossbows slung over their shoulders.

"Hey," said Dawn.

"Hey," replied Connor. His gaze flitted across Landok and Groo, with an obvious flash of recognition on the latter, before he jerked his head respectively in the directions of the people standing beside him. "Dawn, meet Justine and Rondell. Full-time demon hunters, and they're good at it. Only expected to find Justine, but looks like her crew teamed up with his over the last few months."

"Yeah, okay, this is great, kid," said Justine, "but when do we get to the fighting?" She noticed Landok for the first time and her eyes narrowed. "You expect us to be on the same side as that thing?"

"He's not on the side trying to destroy the world, so, yeah," said Dawn, her arms crossed defiantly.

Justine gave her a cold look but offered no more objections.

"Not starting without us, right?" came another voice. They turned to see Kaida, who was accompanied by a brunette in her mid twenties, dressed in red and black leather. She was the one who had spoken, her tone bored and cocky.

"Haven't missed anything yet," said Connor, who seemed to have recognized her as well. Dawn took a step closer and held out a hand.

"I'm Dawn," she said.

"Gwen. And you really don't want to shake these," replied the other, holding up gloved hands.

"I thought you got the electro thing fixed," said Connor, confused.

"So did I," she said with a resigned sort of irony. "Turns out, universe likes playing with freaks even when we try to get disqualified and do I even know you?"

"Not anymore," he said.

"Enough words!" cried Landok suddenly. "Do you not feel it? The battle commences without us!" With that, he took off, Groo taking only a second to follow, while everyone else stared in mild bemusement for a short moment before going after them.

"I think that's a demon I could like working with," Dawn heard Rondell chuckle. Before Landok had gone more than a few paces, however, his path was impeded by a bright purple light. Like Dawn's doorway, it became a ring several feet across, and from it emerged four figures. Groo immediately charged, shouting a battle cry and raising his sword, while Justine took aim with her crossbow. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and Dawn recognized one of the figures. It was Saaro.

"Wait!" she cried. "They're friends!"

Justine grudgingly lowered her crossbow and Groo, who had been half a second from dealing a fatal blow to the bewildered creature, halted his blade mid-swing, lowered it, and smiled. "Welcome, friends of the strange girl who creates doorways to other worlds with her hands," he greeted pleasantly.

"It's Dawn for short," she supplied, before stepping past him and throwing her arms around the beaming Chimera.

"Now that's a reaction I could get used to!" he said happily.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, grinning.

He shrugged. "We heard this dimension was having a go at getting rid of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. Figured you might be involved, and I thought we could help. These are Aara, Vale, and Talen." The former two were females, and the latter a male. All were Chimeras like Saaro, and they bowed at their introduction. Talen quickly reclosed their doorway and tucked the ball of purple light into a pouch on his belt. At another urge for haste from Landok, they set off again. Though at first they had to trust the apparent sixth sense of the demon warrior to lead them to the battle, it soon became unnecessary. Even over the booms and crashes of thunder from the storm, the sounds of screeches, wails, and clanging metal could still be heard ahead of them.

Lightning flashed frequently as they ran. Every time it did, Dawn noticed that their rabble of allies seemed to be growing. A gun-toting blond woman soon fell in step with them. Then a band of people who seemed human, until another flash of lightning illuminated altered features and skin pigmentation. A group of women who were also revealed to be demonic, though the only evidence of this was a series of ridges on the backs of their necks and their cheekbones, followed. Then a petite redheaded girl who appeared to be slightly younger than Gwen appeared.

After rounding one last corner, they finally saw what they were up against, and most of them would have been lying if, despite their reinforced numbers, they had said they felt no fear.

†

Faith led the attack, as planned, with a wall of flames. The resultant wave of heat quickly became almost unbearable, but the fire was doing its job. No reanimated Slayer could withstand contact with it, and it wasn't long before their way was clear. She cast the empty flamethrower aside, took up the battle axe hanging at her hip, and, with Oz on one side and Wood on the other, sprinted past the scores of still immobile, half-burned zombies and into the uncharted territory of the second tunnel.

It was a good thing they had used Willow's supply of night-vision powder before coming, for the floor here was anything but smooth, and it would have been impossible not to lose their footing if they hadn't been able to see. Oz easily took the lead as he navigated the jagged, unpredictable terrain nimbly with his four paws, but though they stumbled occasionally, Faith, Wood, and the army of Slayers in their wake were not far behind.

After a sharp turn, the passageway abruptly opened into a cavern easily twice as big as the first, though this was somewhat difficult to tell around the numerous stalactites and stalagmites so long that some even met in the middle to form pillars. Faith knew that they had only moments before the reanimated Slayer army would be on its feet again and charging back through towards them, so she kept moving, everyone else following her lead.

Finally, after wending their way through a row of mineral protrusions that almost looked like teeth, they saw what they had come for and collectively recoiled.

†

The shield flashed and crackled as the barely regenerated zombie Slayers started throwing themselves at it, but whether it was flesh or steel that made contact with it, the barrier resolutely held, instantly reducing weapons to useless blobs of half-melted metal and burning dead tissues to the bone. Inside sat the four oldest Scoobies, who were attempting to ignore the noise the fruitless assaults made against the shield, but soon that wasn't the only sound.

"So this is the big plan?" came a derisive voice. The First, in the form of Buffy, had materialized just outside the shield. "Send in all those girls to fight? Bold. I'll give you that. But you pretty much lose all your points with how suicidal this is." They ignored it, and it sighed. "Have it your way though. I'll take a silver platter when I'm offered one. Especially one that simultaneously rids me of all of you and revives a Hellmouth with ten times the destructive power of the one in dear old Sunnydale."

Still ignoring the First, Buffy looked up at Willow, who offered a small nervous smile, which she returned as she nodded. Then Willow closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in deep concentration, touching her fingertips to her temples. This was no simple task. It involved disconnecting from every physical sensation and then projecting herself beyond the comforting, familiar confines of her body. But like most things, astral projection grew easier with practice—not to mention when being performed at full strength rather than after nine days of freezing starvation—and Willow managed it in under a minute. Her hands fell back across her lap and her head sagged until her chin rested against her chest.

Even while her body was still going limp, Willow's astral self appeared beside the First outside the shield. The few reanimated Slayers that hadn't already gone back through the tunnel in pursuit of Faith and the living Slayer army immediately converged on her, but they passed right through as if nothing was there.

"What?" said the First in outrage as its minions' attacks continued to phase uselessly through Willow, who was smirking now.

"Remember how underestimating us tends to go badly for you?" she asked. "And how we like to break rules?" Before the First could respond haughtily, Willow's fist had collided very solidly with its jaw.

†

A densely packed, roaring horde of demons of all kinds filled the street before them. Dawn let out an involuntary gasp and, for a split second, wished she had remained out of harm's way as Buffy and Connor had wanted her to do, but then she swallowed her fear and replaced it with a new resolve. This was _their_ world, and the demons were _not_ going to take it from them. That was something she would fight for to her dying breath. A glance toward Connor told her his attitude was the same.

She felt the hilt of a broadsword pressed into her hands and looked up to find that Groo had given it to her. He grinned rather unsettlingly, then turned his attention back to the mob of demons and drew a longsword from the sheath across his back to use instead. And then, almost before Dawn could realize it, the battle had begun. The demons were alerted to their presence when ones nearest them were peppered with arrows, crossbow bolts, and bullets, taking out at least a dozen. As the wall of demons roared in response and surged to attack, several of them, courtesy of Kaida, burst into flames. These careened wildly in their agony, catching others on fire and creating a great deal of chaos.

Dawn felt adrenaline flood her system, and just in time for her to duck the swishing blade of one of the demons. She threw all of her weight behind her broadsword and drove it to the hilt through her opponent's torso. Its dying roar was lost amid the mingled cacophonies of the raging storm and the mêlée around her.

Connor had quickly set about renewing his claim on his Quor'Toth nickname, dropping demons left and right. Groo and Landok had become similar forces of destruction, and Justine's and Rondell's crews were giving everything they had, as were the two groups of humanoid demons fighting on their side. Saaro and his fellow Chimeras launched a constant aerial assault with their strange but deadly weapons. And apparently there was more to that red-haired woman than met the eye. Any demon that managed to get within a ten-foot radius of her would find itself impaled upon its own weapon or flattened against a building with a casual flick of her wrist.

Gwen had removed her gloves, and any demon stupid enough to come near her was promptly fried by massive electrical discharges from her fists. Soon, however, a group of about ten of them converged on her. "You think you've got me now?" she asked arrogantly. "You haven't seen anything yet." Just before they reached her, she raised a hand into the air, and lightning struck. It traveled instantly from her hand and blasted outward. All of her would-be attackers were left to sizzle in the rain, and she vaulted over one of the bodies to rejoin the fray, shaking off the all-too-familiar daze that accompanied being struck by lightning.

But even though it seemed they had collectively taken out at least a hundred of the demons, where one fell, three were there to take its place, and there didn't appear to be an end to the swarm. "Where are they all coming from?" shouted the blond woman as she reloaded her gun.

"There!" Dawn shouted back. She had finally seen it. Half a block farther down the street: a portal. It seemed to be growing slowly but surely larger as she watched, and the demons were pouring out of it. "Connor!"

"What?" he asked once he had finished taking the head off his latest enemy with the sword he had stolen from the one before it.

"The portal!" she said, pointing, "I can close it!" As she spoke the last word, one of many huge, black, barbed arrows came pelting from somewhere in the demonic legions to pierce just beneath her right collarbone.

†

They had been right. There _were_ necromancers pulling the strings, and they were there in that second chamber. Where they had been wrong was in their expectations for what the necromancers would be. Like the Harbingers, perhaps; average sized and mediocre fighters at best. No. Instead, they were staring ahead at twenty twelve-feet-tall, black-robed demons. Their tough, scaly hides were a deep reddish-black and their eyes glowed a sickly pale yellow. In their wickedly clawed hands, they hefted enormous staffs that appeared to be made of bone, which had beads and talismans swinging from them in long cords.

But that wasn't all. The reanimated Slayers they had incapacitated to get here had not been the full force. Here, arrayed before the towering necromancers, was the rear guard. Wood felt his heart grow cold. At the head of the second army was the blank-eyed form of his mother.

Despite all of this, it took the Slayers only seconds to get their bearings and readjust, before they charged forward. Soon, Faith and Wood were fighting back-to-back. Wood, to his dismay, was forced to do battle with what had once been his mother, while Faith fought Kendra's reanimated corpse.

"Care to introduce me to my future mother-in-law?" she grunted as she swung her axe at Kendra.

"It might be hard to make a good impression right now," he replied, narrowly dodging the dagger slashing his way. "Better wait until she calms down."

The fight was brutal and intense. Already, two of the European girls had fallen beneath the blades of their foes, and more reanimated Slayers from the first half of the army were returning from the tunnel every second so that the living fighters were being attacked on both sides.

Vi and Alex were the first ones to make it past the zombies, but the nearest necromancer was ready, and it whipped its bone staff through the air to meet them. Alex dropped to the ground and Vi leapt and rolled in the air to avoid it. Alex jumped back to her feet and swung her axe at the necromancer's leg, but the angle was off, and it merely tore through the robe and glanced off its scales.

"Quick, give me a boost!" said Vi after they were forced to avoid another blow from the staff. Realizing what she had in mind, Alex held out her hands for Vi to step into them, then pushed up as hard as she could. Vi flew upward through the stagnant cave air and went soaring over the necromancer's head. It tried to club her with the staff, but missed by inches. As gravity began to bring her back to the ground, she thrust her sword downward, driving the blade deeply through the demon's skull. With a high-pitched scream, it collapsed in a heap. Vi tugged her blade free as she and Alex hastily turned their attention to the group of zombie Slayers keen on disemboweling them.

Meanwhile, Kendra, along with a handful of the other dead Slayers, suddenly went rigid and toppled over. Seconds later, they had all reverted to whatever state of decay they had been in prior to being drafted into the First's new army. Rona punched the air in triumph, but in doing so, failed to notice one of the zombies that was still very much a threat. The victorious expression slid off her face as she looked down at the sword tip protruding from her chest, and she collapsed to the ground.

"Rona!" shouted Renée, horrified. She drove her claymore at Rona's attacker, but the dead girl dodged and brought her blade around again. At the same time, Wood let out an agonized yell as his mother's dagger cut into him.

†

The First staggered back, its expression one of utter shock. It had not even tried to dodge the blow. Why would it? It couldn't be touched, let alone hit, so what did it have to fear from the tiny fist of a witch? Willow winced and shook her hand. It didn't exactly hurt—pain was a physical sensation and therefore not something one could experience without a physical body—, but it did feel oddly distorted.

"Oh," said the First, laughing while it rubbed its jaw, "so you think you've found the secret to beating me now? Fools. I have existed longer than this world."

"Yeah, but in all that time, have you ever had to fight your own battles?" asked Willow. She threw another punch, and though the First attempted to dodge, it was too slow, and her fist collided once again with its borrowed face. "Guess not. Too bad fighting skills aren't part of the package when you impersonate Buffy."

Within the shield, Buffy, Xander, and Giles had begun the spell. "The power of the Slayer and all who wield it," said Giles slowly and clearly, "Last to ancient first, we invoke thee. Grant us thy domain and primal strength. Accept us in the powers we possess. Make us mind and hand and heart joined. Let the spirit encompass us. Do thy will."

The First snarled and tried to punch Willow in return, but she dodged it. "What's wrong?" she laughed. "All bark and no bite? 'Ooh, blahdy-blah, I'm the First Evil, tremble before me.' You make with the horrifying head-trips and send your armies to destroy us, but when it comes to doing the fighting yourself, _this_ is all you've got?"

"Not all," it said with a nasty smile. Willow felt a thrill of horror accompanied by the wrenching twist of her heart. The face staring back at her now was the same one that smiled kindly from the photograph Dawn had sent her for Christmas. The photograph she had carried with her everywhere since. "What, no kiss?" asked Tara's voice. It contorted her features into a hurt expression. "I thought you'd like it. I've been saving this one just for you, after all."

†

"_DAWN!_" shouted Connor as her knees buckled and she collapsed. The arrow had gone all the way through her shoulder. She cried out as pain exploded from the spot. Connor was suddenly there, holding her, terrified but at a complete loss as to what he should do. "Are you okay?" he asked. The battle continued to rage around them, but the redhead, who clearly had some serious telekinetic ability, was ensuring that no demon took advantage of their vulnerability. Everyone was by now completely drenched from the rain, and Dawn began shivering convulsively. All she noticed, however, was the burning pain in her shoulder.

Swallowing the scream building in her throat, she forced herself to speak. "I'll be fine," she bit out, then hissed and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. "Just—just get it out."

Connor didn't question her. "Okay. Ready?"

"Yes," she said, trying to convince herself. Connor held the end of the arrow protruding from Dawn's back tightly, then broke off the wickedly hooked head. Dawn flinched and whimpered slightly as this jarred the shaft. More than anything, Connor wanted to find the thing responsible and kill it painfully, but he wasn't finished. He now gripped the other end of the arrow a few inches up from the black fletching.

"One, two—" In one swift movement, he ripped it back out. Dawn tasted blood as she bit her tongue to keep from screaming this time. "—Three."

"Good," she said. "Now get me to the portal."

"You sure—," Connor began, but she cut him off.

"It's growing. It's where the demons are coming from, and they won't stop until it's closed." She winced and put a hand to her wound.

"I'll give you cover fire," said Kaida. She seemed drained already, but her expression was determined.

"And I can clear your path," said the redhead.

"Who are you?" asked Connor.

"Bethany Chaulk," she said, smiling as she waved her hand casually to send the small pack of demons who were attempting to violently interrupt the conversation smashing sickeningly into each other. "I've got a debt to a certain vampire with a soul that's long needed repaying."

Connor's and Dawn's eyes widened.

"That makes two of us," said the blond woman.

"Actually, I think it makes all of us," said Gwen.

"Let's get you to that portal."

With Bethany opening an aisle through the horde, Kaida and Gwen blasting fire and electricity on either side, Connor and the blond woman dispatching any demons that managed to break through, and Saaro and his fellows giving added cover from above, they reached the portal fairly quickly. It was ringed with crackling black and yellow energy, over thirty feet across, and steadily growing. Bethany was now wholly occupied with trying to keep the area immediately around it clear, which was difficult, as more demons were trying to force their way through every second. A trickle of blood mingled with the rain on her face as it streamed from her nose.

Dawn ran forward. She concentrated on everything that she could think of that made this world her home, and her hands were soon shining with the green light for the third time in the past hour. She seized the edge of the portal with both hands and pulled as hard as she could. At first, it didn't seem to want to want to cooperate, but then, slowly, it gave, and she forced it towards the other edge.

In the process of dragging it closed, she caught a glimpse of what was on the other side and her heart missed a beat. The terrain was angled so that she could see for quite some distance into the most horrifying world imaginable, and the legions waiting across the dimensional rift made the army of demons that already completely filled the street seem like nothing by comparison.

The muscles in her arm aching, not to mention the searing pain still shooting outward from her shoulder, Dawn finally reached the other side and grabbed it with her left hand to pull them together. Then, knowing what was coming, she shoved a hand through the tiny gap that remained and felt around for the catch as quickly as she could, feeling the familiar awful crushing sensation as she did, but she found it at last, and the portal was closed and locked, leaving her hand bloody and in almost as much pain as her shoulder.

Though Dawn had succeeded, the battle was far from over. Gwen let out a yell as she was stabbed in the side, but the demon holding the hilt of the weapon was dead mere seconds later once she had used the sword to conduct a deadly level of voltage straight to it. She jerked the blade free with trembling fingers, then turned to Connor and Dawn. "Thanks for the invite, kids, but a thief's priorities are survival first, dying honorably in battle never." With that, she departed as quickly as she could, clutching her wound and electrocuting anything that touched her.

She was the lucky one. Even with the portal sealed, there were still simply too many demons, and how hadn't they noticed the dragon before? A few of Rondell's crew had gone down, though not without taking quite a few demons with them first. Then Justine fell, impaled from behind after taking down a monster twice her size. Saaro lay in a crumpled heap, his beautiful wings folded awkwardly around him, an arrow like the one that had struck Dawn protruding from his chest.

"No place like home," said Connor grimly, for the scene reminded him irresistibly of the place he half-wished he could forget again. Dawn stared at him, an idea suddenly striking her.

†

Renée fell backward as excruciating pain lanced across her face starting at her right cheek, traveling across the bridge of her nose, and ending above her eyebrow. Blood poured from the wound, stinging as it dripped into her left eye. Her attacker drew back in preparation for the killing blow, and she was completely unable to react. But then the zombie's head was cleanly severed from her body, which toppled over to reveal Faith.

"What the hell are you doing, rookie?" she shouted. "First rule of slaying: _don't_ _die_." Renée swallowed and wiped some of the blood from her face with her sleeve before taking Faith's outstretched hand and jumping back up and into the fray.

At the agonized cry from behind her, Faith whipped around. Dread clawed at her heart when she saw Robin fall to his knees. By reflex, she hurled her axe, which thudded heavily into the chest of Nikki Wood's reanimated form, and she went down. Faith ran forward, shoving another zombie impatiently out of the way, but Robin was already getting back to his feet. Though he had been slashed across the chest, his wound was not as deep as she had initially thought. He cast her a pained version of the mischievously charming smile she adored, and relief washed over her.

"Next time there's an apocalyptic battle, can I _not_ get stabbed?" he asked.

"Only if you make it through this one," she said hoarsely, wishing they had time for more than fragmented banter. Just then, Laurel and Erin succeeded in taking out another necromancer, and more of the reanimated Slayers resumed their final rest as a result. The tide had clearly turned, but they weren't out of the woods yet. Kat caught the end of the bone staff of the necromancer she had tried to take on directly to the chest, and the impact sent her flying backward. She smashed through one of the stalactites in an explosion of mineral shards. Though she did not get up again, Clare managed to get her hands around the neck of the demon responsible, and heard a satisfying snap as she twisted with all her might.

Not far away, Oz sprang forward and latched his jaws around the staff-wielding wrist of another of the necromancers. While it was distracted with trying to get him off, Chao-Ahn knocked it off its feet with a forceful kick to the side of its knee, and one deadly flash of her kuantao later, its head parted company with its body.

†

Buffy, Xander, and Giles continued the spell, so absorbed in it that they were oblivious to what was happening outside the shield. Giles removed the top card from the Tarot deck. "Sophus," he said. "Mind." He placed it before him and drew a second card, which he then passed to Buffy.

"Manus," she said. "Hand." She set her card down and went back to clutching the Scythe tightly as it lay across her lap. Giles picked up the third card and gave it to Xander.

"Animus," he said as he accepted the card. "Heart." Like Buffy and Giles, he placed the card in front of him.

"And Spiritus," said Giles, as he drew the fourth card and set it in front of Willow's motionless body. "The Spirit."

A few yards away, astral Willow was frozen where she stood. In the back of her mind, she had always known this could happen, ever since the First had impersonated Cassie Newton and tried to talk her into suicide. But she had never prepared herself to deal with it. Especially not while she was shouldering the enormously weighty responsibility of destroying the First Evil in one-on-one combat. And now what looked exactly, achingly like Tara, stood before Willow, the sound of her voice quickly leaving her heart in shards.

"Well, come on," it said. "You're a murderer already, so this should be easy. You already betrayed what we had by going back to the dog."

A deep sob broke from Willow's chest, and she shut her eyes in a childlike attempt to escape.

"That's a lie." Willow's eyes opened in surprise. It was the same voice, but came from beside her. She felt a warm presence, but nothing appeared to be there. "That's not me, Willow. I would never say that to you. My time with you was the happiest of my life, and all I can hope for is that you'll have that kind of happiness, even if it can't be with me anymore." Willow's face was streaked with tears, but they were no longer tears of despair. "You can do this. You're strong like an Amazon, remember?"

"Strong like an Amazon," Willow repeated in a fierce whisper, her fists clenching with fresh resolve. Tara's words of comfort and strength had clearly gone unheard by the First, which continued to regard Willow with very un-Tara-like smugness.

"We enjoin that we may inhabit the vessel," Giles went on. "The Spirit; caller of thousands; last of the Guardians."

The warmth of Tara's presence faded from beside Willow, but she knew somehow that she was still there; that she would always be there. She raised her eyes to lock gazes with the First, now able to look past the stolen features. "You have no power over me," she said. "I don't think you have much power at all. You get it from your followers, but," she shrugged, looking around, "haven't seen many of those Harbingers around lately."

"I will always have followers," it said. Its mistake was still using a voice Willow knew. She could hear the underlying defensiveness; the impact her words had made on it, and she smirked.

"Then let's see how they do without a leader."

"We implore thee," said Giles, his voice louder and more forceful as the spell neared completion, "admit us; bring us to the vessel. Take us now." His, Buffy's, and Xander's heads all went back and the gourd shone with bright golden light. Willow staggered slightly as the enormous power of their joined essences hit her. Her eyes shone orange as she simultaneously gained access to the wisdom, languages, and decades of experience of Giles, the Slayer strength, instinct, and muscle memory of Buffy, and the unmovable anchor of Xander's courageous, honest heart. Grasped tightly in her right hand was the Scythe, and for the first time, she understood what Buffy had meant when she described the unique connection between it and the Slayer who wielded it. It felt good.

"What is this?" demanded the First, its tone a mixture of uncertainty and anger.

"Your end," said Willow. Her voice was now joined by those of the other three. She held up her left hand, and spoke a few well-chosen words of Sumerian. The First's expression changed temporarily to pure shock before it was forced out of Tara's shape and back into its true, monstrous form. With the combined strength of all four of them, Willow brought the Scythe around in a smooth arc, its song as beautiful and clear as always as it cut through the air, the hideous, bestial, horned head of the First directly in its path.

†

"Connor," gasped Dawn in realization, "I know how we can win."

"How?" he asked, hastily pushing her out of the way of an incoming demon, which he then fought. Though its sharp claws raked across his left shoulder, he soon outmaneuvered it and plunged his sword through its chest. He winced and felt the wound, but he'd had much worse, and quickly overcame it.

"Quor'Toth," Dawn answered finally.

Connor's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"

More demons converged on them. Dawn wrenched a sword from the limp grasp of one of the dead demons, and she and Connor fought back-to-back. "I mean we send them there," she elaborated.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?" he asked incredulously. "What _else_ that could release here?"

"Then we open it into Quor'Toth's sky, so that they'll all fall in and get squished, and nothing can get out," she said.

"It's insane," he objected, shaking his head.

"But it'll work," she countered. "We can't beat this many of them." There was no arguing with that. Hundreds of demons had managed to force their way through the portal before she could close it, and their strength to fight them was beginning to wane. It was already hard for Dawn to swing the sword. Both of her hands ached, and a dull throb still pulsed from the arrow wound. She was exhausted. Connor gave her a long, shrewd look, before finally nodding.

"Okay," he said. "What do we do?"

"Just take my hand and think of Quor'Toth." He did, screwing up his face as he let the awful memories of that place assault his mind. Within seconds, Dawn's free hand was glowing yet again. "Here we go." She plunged her hand down, so that it looked like she was reaching through the pavement of the street itself. This time, when she found the lock, it felt like her fingers were on fire, but she pulled anyway, and the doorway opened on the surface of the street.

"Everybody get out of the way!" Connor bellowed to their allies. Groo, Landok, Bethany, Kaida, and everyone else in range of his voice hastily obeyed, and Dawn grabbed the fiery blood-red light on the edge of the doorway and dragged it behind her as she and Connor ran through the sea of demons. The opening yawned wider and longer behind them. Scores and scores of demons tumbled in, their screams as deafening as their struggles were pointless. Bethany helped, forcing still more of them in telepathically, until Dawn and Connor finally reached the other side.

The doorway now formed a sinister slit right down the middle of the street, bulging out wider in the middle, like the pupil of a cat. The world beneath was angry and red, and seemed to almost hungrily draw the demons into it. It had definitely served its purpose. Only a comparative few of their demonic foes had managed to avoid falling through, most of them concentrated around the mouth of the same alley where the enormous dragon had swooped down several minutes before, while Dawn's and Connor's allies now hastened to put an end to what remained of the demon army.

Mustering her remaining strength, Dawn began to pull it back closed, by now barely feeling the caustic rim of the doorway burning her hand. She went much more slowly now, but eventually got back to the other end, where she sealed the rift again. "We did it," she told Connor hoarsely, giving him a feeble grin. It only lasted a second before she collapsed, unconscious, into his arms.

†

Though quite a few of its number had sustained rather substantial injury in the process, the Slayer army had managed to take down nine more of the necromancers, so that only seven remained, most of their zombie puppets lying harmlessly in varying states of decomposition. Some had become mere dust, for that was all that had remained of them after centuries in their graves.

Together, Faith and Wood then brought the necromancer count down to six, and seconds later, Shannon and Emily took it to five, so that the zombies were now roughly thirty in number. It didn't take long—as the Slayers now outnumbered the necromancers and zombies five-to-one—before they had overpowered and defeated them at last.

The cheers of the drained but triumphant Slayers echoed around the vast cavern. Their weapons clattered to the stone floor as they laughed and hugged each other—or, in the case of Faith and Wood, began enthusiastically kissing. Rather than joining in, Oz and Renée left them and began to race back through the tunnel towards the first chamber.

†

The First managed to avoid the worst of the blow, though the Scythe had left a deep gash across the arm with which it had shielded its head. A strange, thick blackness shone from the wound, like some kind of negative light. Incensed, it snarled at Willow, clutching at the wound with a scabby, long-fingered hand. "I am the manifestation of the evil inherent in every being that ever walked, crawled, slithered, flew, swam, or oozed on this world," it said in a rasping, venomous voice. "You cannot stop me!"

"Well," replied the still combined voices of Willow, Buffy, Xander, and Giles—though this line was probably Buffy's doing, "I guess from now on," Willow raised the Scythe again, "all that evil just won't be enough to bind you to existence." This time, her aim was true. The blade of the Scythe sank completely out of sight as the force of her swing buried it in the First's skull.

She ripped the beautiful weapon free again and the First emitted a hair-raising sound that was somehow at both the upper and lower limits of human hearing. Willow watched, still holding the Scythe ready, as the First's horrific form compacted into a tiny speck, then exploded, blasting the same odd reversed light in every direction.

The force of the explosion sent Willow slamming back into her body so violently that she felt as if she'd been hit by a semi truck. The magical shield around herself, Buffy, Giles, and Xander—the latter three of whom had been released from the spell and were now looking thoroughly dazed—shattered, and she felt her head and torso meet stone painfully as she collapsed backward.

The battle with the First had sapped her of almost all of her strength. Darkness gathered at the corners of her vision. She could barely muster the energy to force air into her lungs. She struggled against the blackness, but it was so peaceful and inviting that she was finding more and more that it might be nice to just let go and succumb to it.

It was then that she felt warm breath on her face. She realized that Oz, still in wolf form, was standing over her. His intense, twinkling blue eyes lifted her out of the haze. He could see that she was fading. Whatever had happened while he, Wood, and the Slayer army fought the necromancers and zombies in the second chamber had clearly cost her. _Stay with me_, he thought desperately as he rested his furry head against her chest. _Stay, Willow_…

By some magic of which even she knew nothing, Willow felt a tiny measure of strength returning to her limbs. She wound her arms around Oz, tangling her fingers tightly in his fur. He sat up straighter on his hind legs, pulling her into a sitting position with him, and he put his head next to hers; the best embrace he could manage in this form.

She leaned against him, and as the memories of the battle floated back to the surface of her weary mind, tears streamed down her face, and she wasn't sure which emotion had caused them. The First impersonating Tara. The real Tara's voice and presence beside her. The spell. Victory. It should be all right with the world if she just slept in Oz's arms for a few days, right? Her head dropped sideways onto the wolf's shoulder. Though at first he felt slightly panicked, he soon gave a chuckle that sounded more like a growl as she began to snore softly.

Meanwhile, Xander was the first of the other three to shake himself out of the post-spell daze, and he leapt to his feet and tore towards the second tunnel. Renée emerged just as he reached it, and if it weren't for her Slayer strength, the force of the collision when he crashed into her would have sent them both toppling painfully onto the stone floor. As it was, they merely hugged each other tightly.

"You made it," they said at the same moment when they pulled apart. Renée laughed, while Xander spent one second taking in the bloody cut running diagonally across her face. Half of him saw past it to the more important fact that she was okay, while the shallower half thought that was probably going to leave one hell of a sexy scar. After that second, however, both halves had come to a long-overdue consensus. To her surprised delight, both of his hands flew up to the sides of her face, and he pulled her to him and began to kiss her senseless.

Buffy and Giles still sat where Xander had left them, beside a tired but contented Oz and a sleeping Willow. Without warning, Buffy burst into hysterical laughter and hugged Giles, her mind full of everything they'd been through since arriving in Cleveland. Over Giles's shoulder, she could see the expressions on the faces of the Slayers now returning from the second cavern as they saw Xander and Renée, and it only added to her insane desire to laugh. Giles smiled and hugged her back, then disengaged so that could collect the materials they'd used for the spell and replace them in Willow's bag.

†

Connor moved quickly away from the scene of the battle, holding Dawn carefully in his arms, trying to remember the address of the nearest hospital. He looked back over his shoulder. Through the sheets of rain, he could see the last few demons meeting their end. Groo and Landok were still fighting fiercely, even though the latter had lost an arm at some point in the battle. Though he could see most of the other people (and demons) he had fought alongside still going at it along with the two zealous Pyleans, Kaida was nowhere in sight. Connor guessed that she, like Gwen, had had enough and departed.

He was about to turn back again, having finally recalled the way to the hospital, when a blood-curdling shriek rent the air, and he felt the almost imperceptible shockwave of something massive hitting the ground in the distance. It seemed to have come from the alley behind what he had recognized as the Hyperion hotel, and he remembered the dragon. A wide grin spread across his face as he realized what must have happened. "Nice one, Dad," he muttered to himself before he set off for the hospital, wondering exactly how he was going to explain his and Dawn's injuries to the doctors.

†

It took about two hours before everyone was coherent enough in their post-battle combination euphoria and fatigue to make it back to headquarters. There was something of a stampede as many of the young Slayers made for the kitchen, while others merely headed for their rooms and likely a full twenty-four hours of sleep.

The ones who had sustained more substantial injury than shallow cuts and bruising tended to their wounds with the help of Buffy, Giles, Xander, Renée, Faith, Wood, Vi, and a large number of first-aid kits. Willow, apart from being asleep, was in no condition to perform healing magic, and likely wouldn't be for at least a few days. Oz, back in human form and dressed in the clothes he had been wearing prior to the battle, was simply basking in the fact that it was all over as he stroked Willow's hair and watched her sleep.

Once everyone's injuries had been treated, Buffy made her way slowly down to the basement to return the Scythe to its place on the wall. At the first floor landing on her way back up, she noticed a faint, blinking red light. Looking around, she saw that it was coming from the answering machine of the phone by the computer desks. Frowning, she walked over to it. Apparently someone had left a message while everyone was gone. She almost wanted to ignore it until morning, but her curiosity got the better of her and she pressed play.

"Buffy?" Her eyes widened. It was Angel. Her right hand flew to her cross necklace while the left seized the edge of the desk very tightly. After a few seconds of silence, there was a flurry of static; apparently he had sighed heavily into the receiver when nobody answered. "I was hoping to talk to you before—" He cut himself off with another sigh, and she felt a growing sense of anxiety. She let go of the desk after the wood cracked ominously under the pressure of her grip. "It's not safe to tell you specifically over the phone, but essentially, I've probably just picked one of the biggest fights this dimension has seen in…well, ever. I don't know if I've got the right to ask you this, or what's going on your end, but I don't think I'll be walking away from this one. Last year, you asked me to get your second front ready, and now I'm asking you the same thing."

If there was more to the message, Buffy didn't hear it. She had already turned to sprint all the way back up the three flights of stairs and down the hall to her room, deaf to the questions Xander, Giles, and Faith shot at her when she passed the second floor. Barely slowing down, she seized a small suitcase from the back of the closet, threw some clothes in at random, hid the elegant little dagger Dawn had sent her for Christmas beneath them (her Slayer instincts insisting that if she was going to rush off like this, she should not do so _totally_ unarmed), and grabbed her wallet off the bedside table. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled the drawer open, snatched the silver Claddagh ring from its resting place on top of the mud-encrusted copy of _Sonnets from the Portuguese_, and slid it onto her right ring finger, heart pointing in.

Less than a minute later, she was dashing back downstairs, the suitcase in hand. It didn't take her long to locate Oz, since he had not moved from his spot with Willow since she left the room.

"Oz, can you drive me to the airport, now?" she asked breathlessly.

"Sure," he said. He pressed his lips gently against Willow's forehead, then, carefully so as not to wake her, shifted her to lean against the arm of the couch instead and followed Buffy towards the stairs, feeling mildly alarmed by the panicky desperation that was practically rolling off her in waves.

"Buffy, where are you going?" Giles called after them.

"Los Angeles," she shouted over her shoulder without breaking stride. Giles, Xander, and Faith all exchanged glances.

* * *

The rearrangement of the Adam-killing combo spell thing for taking out the First. Yesss. Been planning that since before I wrote episode one. Thought it would be appropriately epic. Robin squaring off against his mom, while Faith went up against Kendra, who, in case anyone forgot, was her immediate predecessor. Of course I did that on purpose. TARA. Holy crap, I almost forgot to mention that part here. That's another bit I've been very eagerly anticipating for ages. I introduced the idea that the lost loved ones are still around (essentially as guardian angels, if you will) when Joyce comforted Dawn at the end of "Pyrokinetic". There was no way I could pollute such a kind and wonderful character as Tara by having her last appearance be as the First without letting the real Tara balance it out (which, again, I also did with Joyce). I am so happy I got to incorporate "strong like an Amazon". Now that the final battle is over, I can at last divulge my underlying reasons for giving Dawn her power. It was pretty much so she'd be able to turn the tides in Angel's final battle, which could not have possibly been turned otherwise. Oh, speaking of that, the huge assortment of old faces from the first four seasons of _Angel_. (The blond gun-toting chick was Kate, by the way, but I couldn't keep doing the introduction thing in the middle of the battle, as it seemed silly.) These people/demons all comprise what I like to think of as Angel's unseen army. He thought it was just himself, Gunn, Illyria, and Spike against W&H's hordes, but here is essentially everyone Angel's ever saved or worked with who can fight, now fighting alongside him in the battle, even if he doesn't know it, which I think would have been nothing short of awesome, as well as perfectly fitting. And Dawn got to see the hilarity that is Numfar! Hee. You can't have a glossed-over trip to Pylea without mentioning that guy. Angel's message. That was hard to write, but I think it worked. Buffy's reaction was much easier. Yay for her finally putting on the Claddagh ring instead of just the necklace. Oh, and I totally bought a Claddagh ring at Renaissance Festival, and have worn it every day since, and every time I look at it I have this insane urge to abandon my dignity and giggle like the obsessed fangirl I am.


	21. 8x22: Pulse

Episode 22: Pulse

†

Buffy walked down the dark streets of Los Angeles, head bowed against the torrential rain, a sodden, now illegible paper bearing an address clutched in her fist. She was immensely grateful that the raincoat had ended up in her suitcase with everything else she threw in there.

It was three in the morning, Pacific Standard Time. Dawn was probably asleep. There was no need to wake her, or the Quinns, by calling so early. Buffy hoped Dawn would forgive her for missing their phone call due to the events earlier that night. She assumed she wouldn't mind, with the prospect of an actual reunion in the near future. In the meantime, she would find Angel, who was much less likely to be asleep, especially considering the contents of his message. She had received it five hours ago, and he had left it hours before then. Whatever he had been about to face, he must have defeated it somehow, for the area that should have been ground zero, through which she now walked, looked perfectly intact.

Confident though Buffy was in Angel's world-saving skills, his message had been ominously ambiguous and final. She was only still clutching the paper because she felt like she needed to be holding on to _something_. Anything. She had memorized the address hours ago on the plane. The L.A. offices of Wolfram and Hart.

†

_"You still breathe," said Illyria, looking down at the thoroughly battered form of Charles Gunn, whose chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. "This pleases me. Sometimes it is not so intolerable to be mistaken. And if either of you can hear me, know that I am taking him to the hospital. I would advise you not to set foot there in your current condition. The humans would surely attempt to tend to your wounds, and the absence of a heartbeat from either of you could provoke undesirable reactions." _

_Neither vampire was, in fact, likely to have heard her from his current vantage point of being barely conscious and pinned beneath a large dead demon, but that she had bothered to tell them what she was doing was something. Granted, when she left, assuming the guise of Fred, with Gunn draped limply across her arms, they were both _still_ pinned beneath large dead demons, so there was no reason to suspect a change of heart too great._

†_  
_

Buffy stood rooted to the spot, the paper with the address now floating away down the gutter. Where the enormous, imposing building in which she last saw Angel had stood, there now lay a vast mound of rubble. Trying to suppress the tidal wave of dread threatening to drown her, she walked hastily away from the wreckage. Where was he?

She didn't see anything else out of the ordinary for over a quarter of an hour, at which point she turned up another street and passed the first mangled corpse of a demon just lying in the road. And then another. And another. Then a small mound of them heaped against a wall. Whether burned, crushed, or covered in bloody wounds, they were all dead. The farther she walked, the more numerous they became, and the more unshakable her sense of foreboding. Among the demon corpses, occasionally there would also be a limp, broken human form: a woman with dark red hair, a lanky black man, and several others. There were also a few that weren't human but had clearly fought and died on their side. The heavy rain was washing away the blood from their battle. This had to have been what Angel was talking about.

Buffy reached the mouth of an alley with the largest concentration of demon corpses and looked down it. For a split second, she was frozen in horror. There were even more bodies here. They seemed to be the biggest and nastiest of them all, including the lifeless, gargantuan mass of what was unmistakably a dragon. Unfreezing her legs, she sprinted down the alley, around the dragon, and past the gutted, still forms of dozens of large and horrible looking demons.

"Angel!" she cried desperately. She jumped at a small noise nearby, a grunt of pain, then whirled around to find where it had come from. Her heart leapt but her stomach clenched in anxiety when she saw a battered, leather-clad arm protruding from underneath the body of a particularly large demon. She dashed over to it and threw the monstrous heap aside as though it were a rag doll. "Angel," she said again, this time in relief. He was obviously still alive, for no matter how bruised and broken he might be, he was, at least, _not_ dust. His eyelids flickered at the sound of her voice, but he made no other movement. "When I saw the building...I thought I was too late," she said, her tears mingling with the rain. "And I guess I was, but at least you're still alive. Oh, thank God!" She bent down and pressed her lips against his. He responded, almost imperceptibly, but it was something.

†

A beautifully familiar sound registered in his mind. With some effort, he managed to open his eyes, searching for the source of that sound. _Her_ voice. His view was partially obscured by something—something large and heavy. He tried, but was too weak to move it. But his currently limited vision proved to be enough. No. Too much. He wished he hadn't woken. There she was, but it wasn't him she had come to save. Wasn't him she was kissing, relieved to find him alive.

Spike found that he couldn't look away. Not that he could have physically turned his head in order to do so, but he couldn't even at least close his eyes against the scene. Something in him forced him to watch the one thing that could make him wish that the sharp chunk of wood being driven slowly deeper through his back like a nail by the weight of the demon pinning him him to the ground had pierced him slightly farther to the left. That emotion, however, was short-lived. What came next ate greedily at his insides, leaving room for nothing else. Anger. Undiluted jealous loathing. And still he lay there, watching as it built steadily, trying to make him explode for want of an outlet.

†

Buffy briefly examined Angel to make sure it would be safe to move him. What she saw made her heart twist painfully. True, as a vampire he was already technically dead, but she had never seen him looking this much like a corpse. His clothing was riddled all over with blood-soaked rips, revealing ugly cuts beneath. His left arm was bent at a grotesque angle, and he appeared to have been run through at least twice. Wherever skin was exposed, it was either bruised or covered in blood, which had dried while he lay shielded from the downpour underneath the body of his last enemy. Thankfully, some of that blood didn't seem to be his. Buffy had no idea how she was supposed to ascertain whether his spine or neck had been injured _without_ moving him, but there was nothing for it; the sun would be up eventually, and she wasn't sure she trusted the storm to last into the day. And leaving him lying in the rain like this would hardly be helpful in the first place.

As carefully as she could, Buffy raised Angel into a standing position and began to half drag, half carry him back towards the other end of the alley. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could have sworn that he was at least _trying_ to move his feet on his own. They finally reached the street and Buffy paused, looking around uncertainly. Where was she supposed to take him? A hospital was out of the question, even if she knew where one was, and she didn't know of anywhere else. It had been too long since she had lived in Los Angeles, and she had hardly spent her time then mapping out the best places to take wounded vampires, anyway.

As if he had read her mind, Angel supplied the answer. "Building to the south," he grunted, barely audibly. She didn't pause to question him, but hurried as quickly as possible to the door and brought Angel over the threshold. It was a relief to at least have him out of the rain, but his head kept drooping as though he were fighting not to pass out. Buffy looked around and the location clicked in her brain. It was the abandoned hotel Willow had told her about. Clearly still abandoned. She helped Angel across the dim lobby, past a funky pylon-shaped couch which she dismissed as not comfortable enough, and to the nearest room on the ground floor. After gently helping him stretch out on the bed, she squeezed his hand before dashing to the next room, yanking the sheets from the mattress, and returning, tearing the linen into long strips as she went. She then retrieved towels from the bathroom and filled the sink with lukewarm water.

"Is there a first-aid kit here?" she asked him as she began to clean some of his cuts.

"Under the desk in the lobby," he said, and she quickly retrieved it. She spent the better part of two hours cleaning and bandaging all of his wounds while he lay unnervingly still, except for the occasional stiff grimace of pain. She knew he was trying to repress these so as to make her job easier, but they were all that kept her from feeling like she was dressing a corpse.

Buffy noticed grimly as she worked that none of Angel's wounds were bleeding, though several were still raw and gaping. The towels from two other rooms had been soiled cleaning off all of the dried blood. He already looked better; clean, dressed in a fresh (if slightly musty) change of clothes she had found in an upstairs room on his suggestion—but most of his exposed skin (and almost all of what was hidden beneath the white undershirt and black pants) was thoroughly bandaged and his left arm was in a sling.

Still, Buffy knew it wasn't enough. The battle had left him almost literally drained of blood. Even the bruises were a bloodless yellow-green. With injuries this grievous, he needed to feed as soon as possible in order to heal, and animal blood wouldn't cut it. Her hand drifted unconsciously to the scar on her neck as she gazed at his now sleeping form, and her jaw set with determination. Nothing could heal him faster than her blood, and seeing him in this state hurt her far worse than what this was going to cost her.

She walked around to the other side of the bed and sat cross-legged upon the mattress next to him, then pulled from the inside of her boot the dagger she had brought. She rolled up her sleeves, and reached out with her free hand to touch his face. "Angel," she said quietly.

Angel opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but winced and collapsed back. Then he noticed the dagger she held and his brow creased in puzzlement. He looked up at her face and his stomach knotted painfully as he realized what she was going to do. He had only seen that expression once before and he was even less able to prevent what would follow this time. "Buffy, please," he whispered. "Don't make me. Not again." The demon in him waited hungrily, but he shoved it impatiently to the back of his mind where it belonged. She didn't need to do this.

"Sorry," she said with a small, sadly ironic smile. "Not open for debate." Gritting her teeth, she slashed the knife quickly across her right forearm, halfway between wrist and elbow. Angel opened his mouth to object again, but his voice was stifled against the warm flow of blood when she pressed the now profusely bleeding cut to his face. "Shut up and drink," she ordered.

All thoughts of protest were banished from his mind the instant her blood touched his tongue. He swallowed and passively let it fill his mouth again. Drogyn's and Hamilton's blood had been powerful, but Buffy's was still the most wonderful thing he'd ever tasted. It was strong and alive and warm and _her_. How had he survived without it for so long? The heat of it coursed through him, right to the tips of his fingers and toes. He drank more hungrily, pressing her arm tighter against his mouth with his right hand.

Buffy stared fixedly at the door, noticing how the dim light of the lamp glinted off the doorknob in tiny yellowish flecks. She felt Angel's hand clamp over her wrist just before her own hand began to feel cold and tingly. She stared still harder at the door, searching for patterns in the dark grain. Next to the doorknob was an oddly shaped knot. If she tilted her head slightly, it almost looked like a heart. The pattern rippled through the wood around it in larger, increasingly distorted rings, until it broke and joined the long, straight lines running the length of the door. She was finding it more and more difficult to focus on the shape. Indistinct bluish blobs had begun to shift distractingly across her vision. She felt heavy, which was odd; her head was so light. A faint, static-like buzz filled her ears, blocking the muffled sounds of the still-raging storm outside.

Blinking hard to clear her vision of the blue haze, Buffy was about to jerk her arm away when Angel abruptly released it. Fighting the blackness gathering at the edges of her mind, Buffy took one of the few remaining strips of bedsheet and clumsily tied it over the cut with her left hand, pulling it tight with her teeth. "Okay," she said thickly, "sleepy." With some effort, she uncrossed her leaden legs and stretched out on the bed. She became aware of Angel's arm encircling her, and automatically curled up against him as the blackness finally engulfed her and she lost consciousness.

†

Spike hungrily chugged down the last pint of blood from his fridge. Wiping his mouth, he glanced around the apartment. Every piece of furniture in it lay in splintered ruin on the floor—victims of his rage. It had taken fully two and a half hours for him to muster enough strength to get out from underneath that sodding corpse, and another to drag himself back to his apartment. Three pints of cold, week-old pig's blood, a long, scalding shower, his last half-bottle of bourbon, and a decimated living room later, he felt better—if he overlooked the near crippling pain jarring from practically every inch of his body, the exhaustion fighting quite insistently to drop him where he stood, and the complete wreckage of his emotional state, that was. The very picture of health and sanity.

With a bellow of frustration, he slammed his fist through the wall next to the fridge. If he had only told Buffy he was alive! Not wanting to devalue his sacrifice had been utter rubbish as a reason not to tell her. Forget just telling her, he should have gotten shot of this bleeding town and Captain Forehead and gone to her as soon as he was corporeal again! Withdrawing his fist from the wall, the knuckles now bleeding and covered in white dust, Spike made up his mind on the spot. He wasn't going to sit here breaking things any longer. He was going to claim what was his.

†

Angel's initial fears when Buffy passed out had quickly abated as her slow breathing grew steadily stronger and more even over the next couple of hours. He didn't need to remove the bandages to know that all but his deepest wounds were now completely healed, and even the worst ones were well on their way. It was hard to feel guilty for what he had done to Buffy when, even at the final edge of consciousness, she had drawn determinedly close to him without the slightest trace of fear or resentment. Well-reputed for his unparalleled brooding abilities, however, Angel had found the guilt for it anyway. Still, the situation did seem to thoroughly shatter the credibility of Andrew's assertion that he had lost her trust.

Careful not to wake her, he got up and walked to the lobby, the guilt twinging in absence of physical aches or stiffness. He dimly recalled Illyria informing him that she would take Gunn to a hospital, and he seized the phone book from under the reception desk. Ten minutes, four wrong hospitals, and two very unhelpful receptionists later, he was talking to Illyria, whose haughtiness could not be dimmed even across phone lines.

"The humans intend to heal him by cutting him open before repairing his injuries. They are fortunate I don't kill them for this treachery."

"Illyria," said Angel in exasperation, the phone pinned between his left shoulder and the side of his face so that he could remove bandages with his right hand, "I'm no doctor, but I know that in general, they know what they're doing, and they're probably the only ones who can keep Gunn alive right now. So, don't kill them."

She gave a disdainful sigh. "Very well."

"He'll be okay, though, right?" Angel asked.

"If these 'doctors' are to be believed," said Illyria skeptically, "then, yes."

"I'm coming," said Angel, who wasn't sure he was comfortable leaving Illyria on her own in a public building, and wanted to verify in person that Gunn was all right.

"What of Spike?" said Illyria.

"I don't know," said Angel. "You didn't see him leave the alley?"

"No. When I left, both of you were barely conscious."

After another minute or so, the awkward—at least, it was awkward for Angel—conversation was over, and he returned to the room to check on Buffy. She was still sleeping. He took the opportunity to really look at her for the first time since she had pulled him out of the alley—the first time that his vision wasn't blurred from being only semi-conscious and injured worse than he'd ever been, at any rate. His guilt, temporarily forgotten in the exasperation that was conversing with Illyria, resurfaced.

Her skin was almost as pale as his, and dark circles underscored her eyes, but she slept peacefully. She had gained a little weight since he had last seen her, for which he was grateful. She hadn't looked precisely underfed then, per se, but the stress of her final year in Sunnydale hadn't been doing her any favors, health-wise. Apart from the pallor of her skin, she looked perfectly fit, her muscles even slightly more toned than before. Not surprising, though, Angel reminded himself, for she'd spent almost a year now not only fighting demons, but training with girls who could actually present a challenge for her in a sparring match.

Judging by the plain, heelless boots, slightly frayed cargo pants, and green long-sleeved shirt that comprised her outfit, she had also given up fashionableness in favor of practicality in her wardrobe. After ten months of putting up with Harmony, Angel found the simplicity of it to be an incredibly welcome change. The lamplight glinted off something around her neck, which he realized with a slight smile was the cross necklace he had given her on the night of their first actual meeting. If she was wearing that again... His gaze roved down to where her hands were still splayed over the spot on the mattress he had recently vacated. There, on her right ring finger, was the Claddagh ring, heart pointing in.

After a long moment of basking in the nostalgic reminisces this triggered, Angel's brain jolted back to the present, and he remembered his plan to check up on Gunn. He realized unwillingly that, on all accounts, being elsewhere for a while was a good idea; he couldn't get used to being around Buffy again. Not when it couldn't last. Not ever, now that he'd signed the prophecy away.

He left a note on the nightstand explaining where he was going and that he would return. Because he would. He at least owed her a proper parting, especially considering what she had just done for him. He retrieved the black coat Buffy had brought down with the rest of his clothes, put it on, and departed. The rain had finally stopped, and though the sun had by now risen, the clouds remained thick and dark, so he was free to walk above ground to the hospital.

†

Gunn's situation was certainly a grim one. Six broken ribs, a shattered femur, broken collar-bone, right arm broken in two places, and a concussion—not to mention cuts and slashes criss-crossing every inch of skin and large, ugly bruises in many places as well. His internal organs had mercifully suffered no permanent damage, but he had required multiple transfusions, more stitches than went into a pair of jeans, surgery on his femur and left kidney, and he would certainly not be leaving the hospital in the near future.

The doctors had been afraid to ask what happened to him, which suited Illyria and Angel perfectly. Illyria, remaining inconspicuous in the appearance of Fred, cocked her head and narrowed her eyes suspiciously upon seeing Angel with only the sling to indicate he had sustained any injury at all, but made no comment. Though she had fought the hardest of any of them in her grief-stricken rage for Wesley, she had only a few half-healed cuts and bruises to show for it herself.

Once satisfied that Illyria wouldn't be a threat to the hospital staff and patients and that Gunn was in good hands, Angel left. On his way out, he almost knocked into someone, who he recognized as Anne Steele, the woman who worked with homeless teens. Her kind face was contorted in anxiety as she hurried past him without a glance, and he remembered that she and Gunn were good friends. He smiled slightly as he continued on his way, but with a fresh wave of guilt, he realized that he no longer even needed the sling, which he discarded in the first trash bin he passed.

†

Buffy opened her eyes groggily, then immediately wished she hadn't. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, making her feel as if someone was bludgeoning her skull from the inside with a heavy mallet. Her throat was parched, and she clambered unsteadily off the bed and to the bathroom. She cupped her hands under the flow from the sink and drank several mouthfuls of the stale tap water, then splashed some on her face, which helped a little. She looked up at the mirror and flinched. Her reflection was deathly pale, each eye underlined by dark purple shadows. She fleetingly wished she had brought makeup, but overlooked it. Returning to the room, she found the note on the nightstand.

_Buffy, in case you're awake before I get back, I went to check on Gunn at the hospital. You'll probably want to head up to Palo Alto to see Dawn soon, but it might be a good idea if you take it easy for a few hours. I'll bring you some food when I come back. —Angel_

Buffy smiled and shook her head—but stopped at renewed throbbing. She had assumed Angel had gone for such a reason, but appreciated that he left the note all the same. She thought she'd pass the time by calling Dawn to let her know she was coming. Steadying herself with a hand against the wall, she left the room, then braved the lobby unsupported, but was disappointed to reach the phone gasping.

"Hello, love," came a voice from the entrance to the hotel. Buffy very nearly fainted on the spot.

"_Spike?_" she asked as she swayed dangerously, her mind completely blown to see the blond vampire standing there. "You're alive? But...how?"

"Looks like that amulet was even trickier than we thought," he said with a small smile. Tears blurring her vision again, Buffy launched herself across the lobby and seized him in the tightest hug she could manage—which admittedly wasn't all that tight at the moment, though she probably would have fallen over from the wave of dizziness without holding on. He eagerly returned the embrace, not caring how painfully his three broken ribs protested.

†

Angel walked quickly up the street toward the hotel, carrying a paper bag full of hot fast food. The smell emanating from it overpowered everything else, making his stomach squirm unpleasantly. He looked down at it in mixed distaste and wistfulness as his free hand drifted out automatically to open the door. Before it got there, he looked up.

What he saw through the darkened glass made him drop the bag of food to the ground and sent his heart plummeting into his shoes. Spike stood not ten feet away through that door, and he and Buffy were locked in a tight embrace, his hand stroking her hair, and her head buried against his chest. Not bothering to retrieve the bag at his feet, Angel abruptly turned and retraced his steps down the street, veered down a narrow, dismal alley, ripped the cover from a manhole, and dropped down into the inviting gloom of the sewers.

†

"What happened to you?" Buffy asked when they broke apart. Spike looked almost as bad as Angel had when she first found him in the alley.

"Same as what happened to Angel. Epic battle, constant mortal peril, all of that," he said casually. "Where is the poofter, anyway?"

"At the hospital, checking on Gunn," said Buffy. On saying the name, she had a sudden flashback to her brief meeting with the handsome black man the previous May, and hoped he was all right.

"Charlie-boy made it out then, did he?" asked Spike, brightening. "Well, didn't expect that one, but it's certainly good news."

"How long have you been alive?" Buffy asked abruptly.

Spike hesitated before answering. "Since about two and a half weeks after Sunnydale bit the dust and took me with it," he said finally. Then he frowned. "Unless you don't count the bit after that when I was a ghost." Before he saw it coming, Buffy had smacked him hard across the face. "_Ow! _Bloody hell, woman! What was that for?" he asked, his eyes watering.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded loudly. "I thought you were dead!"

"Well, with a grand finale like mine, I thought," said Spike, and the words sounded stupid to him even as he said them, "I thought coming back would be a bit of an anticlimax."

"And _that_ was a good enough reason to leave me in the dark? Do you have _any_ idea how hard that was? To put on the brave face and bury it so I could keep it together like I had to?"

"I'm a complete prat?" Spike offered by way of an apology, but she only glared stonily at him. He scrutinized her for a moment. She positively reeked of Angel, but he was more interested in why she appeared so lifeless. Then he noticed the makeshift bandage tied around her right forearm, and his eyes narrowed.

"What?" she asked.

"Angel enjoy his snack?" he said icily.

Buffy folded her arms in defiance. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You? _He's_ the one who'll have to answer for this!" Spike shouted, furious. "I'll kill him!"

"I made him drink," she said calmly. "And you'll be dust the _second_ you take plans to kill him _one_ _step_ further."

"Have you gone completely daft? He could have _killed_ you, Buffy!" he yelled incredulously, grabbing her by the shoulders, barely stopping himself from attempting to literally shake some sense into her. Perhaps the bourbon hadn't been a good idea.

"I trust him!" she shot back less calmly, shoving his hands away impatiently.

"You trust him?" he said in disbelief. "But what about what the little ponce, Andrew, said?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Buffy was, on top of everything, a little annoyed that Spike would bring up something so wholly irrelevant to the subject at hand as Andrew, who was currently somewhere in Panama.

"He was here, a few months back," said Spike, "with a dozen Slayers. Came to haul off the barking mad, hacksaw happy, appendage amputating one. Said none of your lot trusted Angel anymore for taking the reins at Wolfram and Hart. And here you are blithely letting him leech your life away first thing when you get here—"

"Not trusting Wolfram and Hart is _completely _different from not trusting Angel, and Andrew had no right to speak for me," Buffy cut across him in a low, dangerous voice, even further incensed at this revelation that, for all Andrew's melodramatic updates on his progress finding Slayers, a rather eventful layover in L.A. had somehow slipped his mind. Her anger was only temporarily diverted from the issue at hand, however. She shook her head, winced when this significantly escalated the pounding, and continued. "But he's not the point. I _do_ trust Angel. I've always trusted him, and he stopped drinking before I even started to pull away. Even if it hadn't been the second time it happened—"

"_Second time?_" Spike interrupted in outrage.

A faint reddish tinge appeared on Buffy's pale cheeks. "Where did you _think_ I got this scar?" she asked, pointing at her neck.

"And that's love, is it?" said Spike scornfully, ignoring her last question.

"That's _exactly _what love is! Trust, selflessness, being willing to die in an instant for someone, or to stay away to protect them, and knowing that their needs come absolutely before yours. And that's _needs_, not _wants_. He figured that out a long time before I did."

"I _did_ die for you!" Spike replied indignantly. "I saved the whole sodding world! I protected you and the people you care about! I even fought to get my soul back! And ever since I came back, I've been fighting the 'good fight', hoping that when this moment came and we met again, I'd be worthy of you. I nearly died _again _last night, but it was _you_ who kept me going. Everything I do! It's _all_ been for you, Buffy." He moved desperately closer to her, but his words had evidently not had the endearing effect he'd been aiming for, because she kept the distance between them by retreating farther into the lobby.

"For me," she said.

"Of course for you."

Buffy looked at the floor, then back up at him, and her expression was not encouraging. "Not because it's right? Not because, even if you die or get tortured or lose everything, you might have helped someone?"

Spike blinked.

"I guess it doesn't really make a difference to the people you help, but that's not why we fight. We don't fight for a reward, or—or to score _points_ with someone. We don't fight because we were chosen to, even if that's what got us in the battle in the first place. We don't fight because we like it, or because we can win. We don't always like it and we don't always win. We fight because we know what's out there, and that we're all that's standing between it and a happy ignorant world that wouldn't last a week against it. We fight for _them_, even though they'll probably never know it—no, _so_ _that_ they never have to know it. There's every chance that we'll die, but we fight anyway."

Spike gaped at her. It was almost as if someone had handed her a prepared Angel speech to rattle off. Her words seemed to hang in the dusty air for a moment, until he swallowed. "So, I guess this means he wins, doesn't it?" he said hollowly. For all he had said about never really believing he had a chance with her, it didn't make it any easier to hear it from her.

"What, you think this is a contest? I'm a _prize_?" she asked. "You've _really _got the wrong idea, Spike."

"Well, have a nice life with Angel, then," he said bitterly, and stormed out of the hotel. He half expected her to follow, but when the doors remained closed behind him, he returned to his apartment and attempted to relieve some more of his frustration on the already broken furniture, with little success.

†

Buffy sank slowly onto the cone sofa, a hand over her mouth, fresh tears streaking her face. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, and she was exhausted. The unpleasant conversation repeated itself over and over in her pounding head. Why did it have to go like that? The cross necklace shifted beneath her shirt, and the Claddagh ring glinted on her finger. Angel _had _won, if she was going to put it that way. Seven years ago. As to the difficult circumstances involved with his curse, perhaps Willow could help her find a way around them somehow once she got her strength back.

The conversation with Spike replayed again. Buffy had meant every word of that long outburst. It had been her life for the past year, and she had led her fellow Slayers and friends to victory against more impossible odds because of it. But before then, even. Every evil she had ever faced since that sunny day on the steps in front of Hemery had brought her closer to that truth, and now she finally understood it. Her eyes widened. She was cookies.

At that moment, the phone rang, and Buffy jumped so violently that she nearly fell off the couch. Recovering, she ran to answer it. "Hello?" she asked.

"Buffy?" It was Giles.

"Giles! Wha—how did you know where to call?" she stammered in bewilderment.

"A young man, Connor Reilly, called from Dawn's cell phone. He said he was with her at a hospital there in L.A. Something about a battle. He was trying to reach you, to tell you about Dawn, and guessed that you might be at the hotel." Buffy felt as though her insides had vanished. Her grip on the phone nearly shattered it.

"Dawn? What happened to her? Is she okay?" she asked, horrified.

"Connor said she'll be fine," said Giles reassuringly. "And also that he'd never seen anything like her in the battle. I'll save the details for her to tell you."

"Thanks, Giles," said Buffy, relieved. "How's everyone doing there?"

"Rather well, considering," he assured her. "On the mend or mended." There was a commotion in the background, and Giles chuckled. "Oh, here's Willow for you."

"She's awake already?" said Buffy, surprised. Then again, it had been quite a few hours since the battle.

"Hi, Buffy!"

"Hey, Wil. How are you?"

"A lot burnt-out in the magic department, but okay physically. Oz is still freaked out and worrying about me, which is kind of adorable. Xander keeps going on about how now we should take all the Slayers and go lay siege to the headquarters of some TV network until they greenlight a movie sequel to this cancelled show he and Renée are obsessed with."

"Is that the one with the tufty earflap hats?" asked Buffy, snorting.

"I think so? Anyway, we're all still pretty much in celebrate mode. No more First Evil, no more Hellmouths. Faith asked Giles almost right after you left, and he doesn't know of any others. Can we get a rousing hallelujah to that? But I'm babbling, and you should go find Dawn." She told Buffy the address of the hospital. Buffy thanked her and then she was off, her worry about her sister overpowering the impulse to laugh at her best friend's antics.

Upon exiting the hotel, Buffy noticed a paper bag lying abandoned on the pavement just outside the doors. She picked it up curiously. It was full of food, and still warm. _Oh, crap, _she thought, realizing what it must mean; what Angel had seen and assumed. Knowing Angel, he had probably gone to the sewers to maximize brooding effectiveness, and she had no hope of finding him down there. Besides, she needed to get to Dawn. She dug in her pockets. She still had more than enough for cab fare, though she practically had to run down the first taxi that passed, which set off the head-throbbing at a sharp new intensity. Despite this, she politely gave the driver the address and settled in the back seat. As the pounding slowly diminished to its former dull ache, Buffy realized just how hungry she was. She tore ravenously into the bag of food and had completely devoured its contents by the time the cab reached the hospital.

†

Angel paced agitatedly back and forth beneath the ladder that led up to the hotel. His resolve was certainly being put to the test. It was one thing to decide he could live with the knowledge that Spike would get the Shanshu; that Spike would be the one who could give Buffy the happy life she deserved. It was another thing entirely to watch it. He stopped pacing abruptly. He had survived that battle and all those before it. He had kept his sanity after a century of fighting his demonic urges and carrying the weight of the memories of what he had done before his soul was restored. He couldn't let _this_ destroy him.

He knew what he had to do, even though he would rather have gone up against another dragon. He would go up into the hotel. If Spike was still there, it would save him a trip. He would tell Spike he had signed away the prophecy. And he would say goodbye to Buffy. Actually say the words, and mean them. The mere idea of it made him feel infinitely worse than when he had been trapped under that demon's corpse. He doubted he'd ever be in danger of losing his soul due to happiness again. Ah, yes, there had to be a silver lining somewhere. Before he could talk himself out of it, he climbed the ladder and emerged in the basement of the hotel. Thirty seconds later, he walked into the lobby, his brooding stare raking across the floor.

"Well, Liam, it's about time!" said a voice he hadn't heard for two hundred and fifty-one years. His eyes snapped up as his jaw dropped.

†

Five minutes after entering the hospital, Buffy was being led to Dawn's room by Connor Reilly, the tall, thin, quiet boy of nineteen about whom Dawn had been gushing almost nonstop in their phone conversations over the past few months. He looked rather beaten up, and something about him seemed oddly familiar to her, but she was too anxious to see Dawn to put much effort into discovering what that was.

"Hey, sis'," said Dawn, smiling over at her from her hospital bed.

Buffy ran the short distance from the door to her bedside, while Connor took the chair on the other side of the bed and gazed at Dawn silently, his eyes crinkled in a smile that barely touched his mouth. Buffy looked down at her sister. Both of her hands were wrapped in white gauze and her right shoulder was thickly bandaged, but apart from that and a couple of scrapes and bruises, she looked fine. Buffy leaned down and hugged her gently. "You're okay," she breathed, so relieved that she momentarily forgot about the pounding in her head.

"Yep," said Dawn. "I had lots of people watching my back." She looked down, remembering how she'd gotten off much lighter than many of them. Saaro, Justine…. "Plus, morphine? Great stuff. Anyway, they're gonna let me out of here in a day or two."

"What happened to your hands?" asked Buffy apprehensively.

"Well," Dawn began guiltily, "I've kind of...uh, not been telling you some stuff lately."

†

"Kathy?" Angel gasped. His little sister smiled back at him. She was perched on top of the circular sofa in the middle of the lobby. She wore a plain white gown and her small feet were bare. A soft light seemed to emanate from her skin. Angel felt joy and horrendous guilt warring confusingly within him at the sight of her. "How...are you here?" he finally managed.

"I've always been 'ere," she said. Her slightly echoing voice retained the heavy Irish brogue his own had long since lost. "But fer this, I'm finally allowed to show meself. Only 'appens on very special occasions, ye know. In fact, I only know of a few other times it's 'appened recently."

"What do you mean?" asked Angel, who was still struggling to wrap his mind around the fact that he was talking to his sister.

"Well, Darla appeared to Connor last year, to try to stop 'im hurtin' that girl. But the evil power was too strong, and Connor was too confused and lost. And then, Cordelia appeared to everyone. She wasn't lyin' when she said the Powers owed 'er, believe me. No way they would've let 'er do that otherwise. But then she 'ad to go to 'er charge."

Angel couldn't decide which question to ask first. Kathy noticed his bewildered expression and laughed. It was a beautiful sound. "Still takes a while fer ye to catch on, then, big brother? I'm yer guardian. 'Ave been ever since the Romani cursed ye with yer soul. Hasn't been an easy job, either—though lately it's been a right popular one. First Doyle, then Cordelia. Both of 'em wanted to take my place, but I wasn't givin' ye up to anyone. Winifred wanted it too, a bit, but was more worried about Wesley, and fer good reason. Poor man. Ye should 'ave seen 'is smile when 'e saw 'er waitin' fer 'im, though. She'd wanted so badly to tell 'im she was still there after she died, too, but she wasn't allowed."

"Fred's still—," Angel began hoarsely.

"As whole and undamaged a soul as I am," Kathy finished for him, spreading her arms wide. "No human soul 'as ever been destroyed, but we were worried about one yesterday. We needn't 'ave been, though; she's a mighty strong one, an' 'eld 'er own remarkably. Or so I'm told. I wasn't there, obviously." She waved a hand impatiently. "But this isn't what I'm 'ere fer."

"Why are you here?" Angel asked, but he didn't really care. Did it have to matter why he was talking to his baby sister again after so long, with her as happy to see him as ever?

"Do ye remember the last thing I said to ye, big brother?" she asked. Angel felt guilt gnawing at him again.

"You asked if I was an angel, come back to you," he said quietly. She had given him his name with that question.

"Funny 'ow it's turned out to be the other way around, isn't it?" she asked. Angel couldn't see the humor in it. It was his fault.

"Kathy, I'm so sorry...what I did to you, and Mother and Father...and so many others," he said. Kathy frowned at him.

"Ye need to stop blamin' yerself fer what the demon did, Liam. We both know that ne'er would've 'appened if it 'ad been _you_," she said. "Ye may 'ave been a bit lost, but ye weren't _evil_."

"But the demon is part of me, and I remember what he did. All of it," Angel said, closing his eyes and seeing for the millionth time all the destruction and death Angelus had caused for a century and a half. It was impossible _not_ to blame himself, when his photographic memory took every opportunity to replay it all in cinematic first person in his mind. Angel felt a warm hand on his face, and opened his eyes. Kathy was there, smiling softly up at him.

"Do ye also remember the last thing ye said to me?" she asked. "An' I don't mean the demon, Liam," she added sternly.

"'Sweet Kathy. No tears; we'll meet again,'" he remembered, feeling those tears threatening to fall at last. Kathy's face, which so resembled his, was already streaked with them. Of all the things Angelus had done, killing his sister was definitely among the worst. Someone who had trusted him so absolutely, who had looked up to him despite his many faults...

"I fergave ye fer leavin' us that day a long time ago. I don't blame ye fer what 'appened after that, because that wasn't my brother anymore. Fer the last 'undred years, I've again been proud to call meself yer sister and guardian, and that's all that matters," she said fiercely. "But enough, now, it's time."

"Time for what?" asked Angel.

"For fulfilling prophecy." With that, Kathy wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing the side of her face against his shirt. He instinctively hugged her back. It felt so wonderfully familiar, even though two and a half centuries separated them from their last embrace. He felt incredible warmth spreading from her into himself, making him dizzy.

"There," she said after a long moment. "I can 'ear it now."

So could Angel.

"My heart."

†

"Okay, I'm not sure whether to be proud of everything you've done or mad that you never told me what was going on," said Buffy.

"I would have told you," said Dawn earnestly, "but I thought you'd send me somewhere else if you knew about the dangerous stuff I was getting into here."

"Oh, you know I would have," said Buffy without hesitation. "But then you wouldn't have been able to help save the world last night. I think I'm gonna go with proud for now." She stroked Dawn's hair affectionately, and felt her throat tighten a little. "You weren't supposed to grow up when I wasn't looking."

"She really was amazing," said Connor.

Dawn smiled at him. "Couldn't have done it without you," she said.

"Yeah, looks like growing up in hell finally came in handy," he replied, his face darkening briefly.

"And when do I get to hear your story?" Buffy asked him.

"Got a few hours?" asked Dawn, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh," said Buffy. "Well, no, actually. I kind of need to find Angel as soon as possible. I think he saw me hugging Spike, and made with the hasty conclusions."

Connor grimaced, but Dawn's eyes went wide. "_Spike?_" she yelped, almost matching Buffy's initial shock. "He's alive?"

"How come you didn't know that?" asked Connor, puzzled.

"How come you _did_?" Buffy and Dawn shot back in unison.

"I met him in February," said Connor, shrugging. "He was getting the crap beaten out of him by this weird blue lady, and swearing a lot."

"That sounds like him," said Dawn, rolling her eyes.

"I guess I forgot to tell you," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Kind of had a lot of other stuff on my mind at the time."

"No kidding," she agreed.

"Okay, before I get sucked into this flashback, still needing to find Angel," Buffy reminded them, standing up. She was pleased that doing so didn't trigger dizziness or head-pounding this time. The food had really helped.

"I can help you," said Connor, also rising.

"You sure?" asked Buffy uncertainly.

"I'm good at tracking," he said, shrugging.

"Crazy awesome at it, you mean," said Dawn.

He grinned a little sheepishly.

"Okay, then," said Buffy, "I'll see you soon, Dawn."

"Bye," said Dawn. Connor bent down to kiss her on the forehead before following Buffy out of the room.

†

As Buffy walked beside Connor down the now sunlit streets, she decided it was as good a time as any to give him the protective big sister speech. "Connor?" she began. He paused and faced her questioningly, and she looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm just going to warn you that if you hurt my sister at _all_, you'll have to answer to me. Ask a few of the demons I've slain—I mean, if they were in any condition to talk, and you'll know that won't be a fun experience. Don't get me wrong, though. So far, I like you. Just, don't make me change my mind."

"Definitely not planning on it," said Connor, smirking and looking ahead again. "Anyway, Dawn could probably send me somewhere really nasty if anything like that ever happened, before you even got to me."

"I just don't want her to have to go through the same kind of relationship hell I've had," said Buffy.

They walked on in silence. Occasionally, Connor would pause, holding out a hand for her to stop. The more time she spent with him, the more forcibly she was reminded of Angel. The movements, the mannerisms—not to mention the tracking.

"Okay, the scent's strongest down this way," he said twenty minutes later.

Buffy threw him a sharp sideways glance. He'd been tracking Angel's _scent_? Who _was_ this kid? In spite of these thoughts, she followed him down the narrow alley without comment. "Great," she said when she spotted the open manhole. "Sewers it is, then." She jumped through the opening without hesitation to land with a splash on the two inches submerged floor, and was closely followed by Connor. He paused for a moment in the tunnel, letting his eyes adjust to the near total darkness.

"This way," he said, starting to go right.

"You can see down here?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Connor, shrugging—not that she could see it, of course. "Here," he said, taking her by the hand and leading her down the tunnel.

†

"How is this possible?" Angel asked, very distracted by the rhythmic thumping of his heart within his chest.

"That's all ye can say?" said Kathy, shaking her head and laughing.

"I signed it away. It can't be me."

"It can and it _is_, Liam. Prophecies aren't contracts. No mere signature could take it away from ye. If anythin', it set it even deeper in stone, because in signin', ye proved ye absolutely weren't in this fer the reward. Ye were willing to not only give it up, but to let it be someone else's. Ye sacrificed everythin' that was in it fer ye, believed ye'd be in this thankless fight fer eternity, and accepted that fate."

Angel was at a complete loss for words. Kathy's expression became stern as she continued. "Now, I know ye'll not be wantin' to give up the fightin' completely, but don't go getting' yerself killed tryin' to do things humans can't. Just because ye wanted this doesn't mean it'll be easy," she warned. "Promise me."

"I promise," said Angel. He dropped to his knees and hugged his sister again. "I love you."

"I'll always be right 'ere," she whispered, returning the hug as tightly as she could. One flash of warm white light later, Angel's arms closed around empty air.

†

"Well, after you," said Connor, pointing a hand up the ladder. Buffy climbed it and emerged in a dank, empty basement. A few seconds later, Connor had joined her. He took one look around the room before rolling his eyes. "I can't believe it," he groaned.

"What?" asked Buffy.

"After all that wandering all over the place in the sewer, he just comes right back to the hotel," he muttered in exasperation.

"Oh," she said. "I guess he came back after I went to see Dawn. Sorry I dragged you out here for no reason."

"Doesn't matter; you didn't know," he said dismissively, heading for the stairs. At the top, he held the door open for her, revealing a corridor branching off the lobby.

"Angel?" Buffy called, but received no answer. The lobby was empty.

"Hey," said Connor. "Out...there...," his voice trailed off. Buffy turned to look in the direction he was, and saw a lone figure standing in the sunlit courtyard. Connor stood rooted to the lobby floor, mouth agape, but Buffy glided past him, dreamlike.

†

The demon was gone. Angel was finally free of it, and his existence would no longer be a constant struggle against that part of his nature. He breathed in lungful after needed lungful of sweet air, still wet and heavy from the storm and lightly flavored by the overgrown, weed-ridden courtyard. He reveled in the subtle changes, feeling the slight coolness of the spring breeze, the warmth of the sun on his skin. Strange, he thought, how easy it was to smile as he stood in the sunlight flickering between shifting leaves.

At a sound behind him, he turned around, but his sun-dazzled eyes couldn't make out anything in the darkness of the shaded overhang. Before they had time to adjust, the mystery solved itself. Buffy materialized as she stepped slowly into the sunlight towards him. Her hair glinted brilliant shades of gold, and her green eyes sparkled with questions that couldn't seem to find her voice.

Buffy continued to walk to him, then stretched out a hand and placed it over his heart. Tears poured freely down her face when she felt the strong, steady rhythm there. It seemed as if her own heart would burst with joy as all the complication and doubt that had bound it tight for years fell away, and it was free at last. She looked up at Angel's face and an unexpected laugh escaped her at the sight of the broad grin there, parenthesized by glistening tear tracks.

She was done baking, and Angel was human; how was it possible that she wasn't dreaming? "This is really happening, right?" she asked.

"It really is," he said, taking her upturned face tenderly in his hands and kissing her. She threw her arms around his neck as she enthusiastically kissed him back. It went on until _both_ of them were in dire need of oxygen, which had them laughing and crying again when they briefly broke apart, arms still around each other.

†

Connor remained in the lobby, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he watched the scene unfold. Less than a year ago, he would have viciously opposed any form of happiness his father tried to claim. Now, with the raw blade of his true childhood blunted by a kind lie, he was glad of it. Angel had already lost and suffered so much without letting it stop him. He had sacrificed everything to give him that happy childhood. It was a gift for which Connor could never hope to repay him. So, as far as he was now concerned, Angel deserved this. And the time he had spent with Buffy so far had been enough to earn his approval of her. But this was their moment. He shot one last glance at the pair in the courtyard before leaving the hotel. His thoughts turned towards Dawn, and he wondered whether he should be the one to tell her what had happened.

As the door closed behind him, Spike emerged from the basement, having followed Buffy's scent there in hopes of another attempt at reconciliation. His gaze roved across the lobby, but the place was empty. He walked a few steps farther and heard laughter. His head whipped around and his eyes fell on the couple embracing in the sunny courtyard.

†

This time, when he returned to what was left of his apartment, Spike did not violently vent his emotions on what remained of his worldly possessions, but rather flung himself upon the pitiful remnants of his mattress and slept until sunset. Afterward, he took up a sword and set off into the night in search of a demon to kill. Unfortunately for him, the battle had quite emptied the city of demons, so his temper once again boiled over, his victim an innocent dumpster, which retaliated by snapping the sword in two on the fifth impact with its edge.

On the roof of a building adjacent to the alley, gazing down at the hurt, angry vampire, stood a dark-haired woman with ivory skin and pale blue eyes, clad in a long, old-fashioned red and black silk dress. Tucked beneath one arm was a very battered porcelain doll, its mouth hidden beneath an aged red cloth, and in her hand she held a small bottle containing what were unmistakably two glowing green eyeballs.

She stroked her free hand through the doll's curly hair and spoke to the night in a soft, crooning voice. "My poor William is all alone. I couldn't help him before, but now I can. You were very naughty to keep the secret from me all this time, Miss Edith. And so was the moon. Never kept things from me before, and how long have we been friends? I'm determined to be very cross with both of you. I'm afraid you won't be getting any cakes for a very long time, Miss Edith, and I shall only speak to the stars until the moon apologizes.

"Shh! Listen now! What a racket he makes. His heart stinks of the Slayer almost as badly as Daddy's. But now she's gone and left him with nothing but angry, broken shards. Not kind to my boy, no. He lost the game. I did warn him, but he was so determined to play. Tried to be a good boy, but he's not one. And Daddy gone forever. Only the Angel-beast left, but it won't last long. All mortal and frail. The Slayer took both of my boys away from me, but she can only have one. Now the princess has come to rescue her handsome knight from his dungeon. Such a silly boy he was, to lock himself in it. But Miss Edith shared the keys with me, and I may free him at last.

"Not locked up the same way Daddy was, no. Different keys to open this cage. No curse, no happiness. No," she giggled insanely, holding the bottle with the eyeballs in front of her face, "I had to go kill the mean beastie who did it; take his pretty candles and keep them safe within the glass. Oh, dear moon, you are cruel to tease me so. But such a lovely surprise after all. I shall have my Spike back before the sun is up again, and Miss Edith might avoid punishment if she helps me with his party."

* * *

Author commentary! I would like to first point out that Spike's rather ill-advised reaction to Buffy telling him that she was choosing Angel was only his *initial* reaction, which was partially influenced by all that bourbon and the very very bad day he'd already been having. Unfortunately, thanks to Drusilla's untimely arrival, the initial reaction was the only one he had a chance to give. Had she not turned up, Spike would have pulled himself together and tried to repair the damage with Buffy, because he wouldn't want her thinking ill of him even though she chose Angel. That being said, having Drusilla turn up in the last scene, eagerly anticipating ridding him of his soul after he saw Buffy and now-human Angel kissing in the sunlight, probably amounts to the worst thing that could possibly happen to him, and I do feel very bad for doing this to him. Even though I love the Spike/Drusilla dynamic, I can appreciate how horrible this twist is for him (even if that doesn't stop me from grinning when I reread Drusilla's insane speech). Okay, moving on. Buffy offering Angel her blood again. Apart from the fact that the scene in "Graduation Day: Part II" is one of my all-time favorite scenes of either show, I wanted to show how much she's still willing to sacrifice for him, even after all this time, and I needed Angel to heal from his many wounds as quickly as possible so he'd be up to going to the hospital and brooding in the sewers later. Also, I wanted to show the sharp contrast in situations for Angel and Spike as they recovered from the battle, and I knew Angel drinking Buffy's blood and her defending him for it would infuriate Spike like few other things could. The part when Angel is just looking at her, seeing how she's changed since the last time he saw her. I really hope you noticed the significance of him being _glad_ that she's gained weight and is dressed plainly, especially since those facts were not mentioned in Cleveland. It's a change that she hasn't necessarily noticed in herself, but which Angel sees at once, which is what I love about it. The rather heated conversation between Buffy and Spike. Ooh, say what you will, but I had _so _much fun writing that. On top of everything, it kinda sucks for Spike that Buffy's probably the only woman on Earth who _doesn't_ want to hear that everything he's done was for her. Shout-out to Andrew's preposterous assertion from "Damage". That was kind of a huge thing on _Angel_, so I couldn't pretend he never said it, even if I really wanted to. Git. I am very proud of Buffy's "why we fight" speech, and even more so because it was what finally made her cookies. I've been building up to this thing for ages, with her jealousy of the other happy couples around her, her loneliness, and most importantly, her brilliant leadership and respect for her friends and fellow Slayers. Another _Firefly_ reference! That was around the time _Serenity_ really was greenlit, so it amused me greatly to have Xander and Renée wanting to make it happen. Also, Xander wasn't actually in the episode, so it seemed like a really good way to cram his personality in enough that we didn't notice his absence as much. Kathy! I love her so much, even though we only got to see her for like twenty seconds altogether. The actress they picked to play her looks so much like David Boreanaz that it's almost disturbing, but in a good way. Anyway, I've pretty much always wanted Angel to be turned human after his epic battle with W&H's minion hordes, and there really wasn't a more perfect way to do it than by bringing in an angelic Kathy. Hopefully I've paved the way for guardian angels with Joyce and Tara and mentioning when Darla and Cordelia arguably acted in that capacity, so this doesn't seem far-fetched. Buffy's return, and the kissing in sunlight. Happy sigh. I have accomplished my goal. I tried to write this well enough that when I read it back, I could believe it would happen, and it worked. So, yay for Buffy/Angel long-awaited happiness! And then, of course, enter Drusilla. *evil cackle*


	22. 8x14: That Far Ahead

Okay, thought I'd preface this with an author's note to clear up any confusion that may have (understandably) arisen from jumping a few months earlier in the storyline. As should be apparent from the dates and episode numberings, this is set between "Realization" and "Reanimation". This means that Willow and Oz have been back together for a couple of weeks, Willow has given Renée the pep-talk of sorts regarding Xander (though the two of them have yet to have the Jayne hats and Buffy intrusion situation), and none of the zombie Slayer stuff has happened yet (except for when Buffy briefly saw zombie Morgan during the Glurgg fight), nor has any of the interesting stuff with Dawn. This episode is roughly concurrent with "Smile Time", but set slightly afterward. Enjoy!

* * *

Episode 14: That Far Ahead

Guest Starring (sort of): Angel Coulby as Renée Blackwood

†

Tuesday, December 30, 2003

Cleveland, Ohio

"You want to be sure to aim your fist from between the first two knuckles. If you connect with the third, a much weaker bone, it could break," Giles told Kris (the shy, nervous, barely fifteen-year-old newest arrival), "which would, needless to say, prove rather disadvantageous if you didn't win the fight on that blow." She nodded and drew in a deep breath. He nodded back and held up one pad-covered hand for her to punch. Kris was used to hitting baseballs, not demons, swinging bats, not fists, and scoring runs, not protecting the innocent. But then, rather miraculously, it all blended together in her mind as she stared at Giles's padded hand: the game she loved and this new sacred calling. The latter was just as much a part of her as the former. Possibly more. Her fist shot out with all her strength behind it and connected squarely with its target. The impact forced Giles to take a step back. His hand throbbed painfully beneath the pad and he suppressed a wince. "Very good," he said. "How did that feel?"

"No bones snapping," she said happily. "My knuckles kinda hurt though. Just a little."

"That's to be expected. The main goal, again, is to inflict more damage upon your enemy than on yourself, and," he shook his still smarting hand slightly, "I imagine you would have managed it quite effectively with that one."

Much of the rest of the space in the training room was occupied, as usual, by sparring matches between the girls who were off-duty. Tonight, Buffy was among them, currently several minutes into a fierce match against Renée. Xander stood a safe distance away and watched with his head tilted slightly to the side, a vague grin on his face.

Buffy hastily ducked as her Scottish opponent sent a high spinning kick exactly through the place her head had been a split second before. She dropped low and struck out in retaliation, knocking Renée's left leg out from under her before the right had finished its kick. Renée toppled over and hit the padded ground with a _thump_. Buffy stood back up and offered her a hand as she wiped sweat from her forehead with the other, and Renée took it and got back to her feet.

"Haven't had...that much trouble...taking a newbie down...in a while," Buffy panted, grinning at Renée.

"Happy to...shake things up," she replied, also gasping for breath. "Good fight."

"Been...enjoying the show, Xand?" Buffy asked, looking over at where Xander stood and raising her eyebrows. Renée smiled at him, the color of her cheeks shifting slightly as she blushed beneath her dark skin.

"Come on, I've gotta make the best out of the eye I've got left," he said, holding up his hands. "Besides, it beats sitting by the lovey-doveyness of Willow and Oz. Cole and Alex can handle that on their own. You know, make a double date and use the tracking map for ambiance lighting."

Buffy chuckled, then turned back to Renée. "Rematch?" she asked.

"Give us a bit...of a breather first," she replied, waving her off and bending down and placing her hands on her knees.

†

Los Angeles, California

Angel cast a baleful glance around his office of the last seven months. If it was possible, he hated this place even more than he had when he first became CEO. Still, he had done it for his son and would do it again in an instant if he had to. Connor deserved a normal life and a happy family. Everything Angel had failed to give him. Even if Angel couldn't be a part of it, the fact that he had it now made everything worth it. He would not let Wolfram and Hart conquer him. He was not their puppet and never would be. Nor, as of a few hours ago, was he a literal puppet. It was a good thing it had worn off when it had; if Spike had made one more crack about him replacing the Count from _Sesame Street_….

At that moment, he was distracted from his brooding when the colors of his ridiculously large office suddenly inverted, accompanied by a series of bangs. He leapt up from his desk chair into a fighting stance, thinking of grabbing one of the weapons off the wall behind him, but unwilling to take his eyes off the disturbance long enough to do so. The air in the center of his office, from which point the bangs and color reversal seemed to originate, had begun to warp and bend. Well, he thought, if nothing else, at least this day was about to become interesting. With a final bang, the colors returned to normal and what appeared to be a petite, dark-haired teenage girl fell out of thin air and promptly crumpled into a heap on the floor. She was dressed in a blue spaghetti strap shirt, black cargo pants, and chunky black combat boots.

"Ow! Get off, Liam!" she said angrily as she got to her feet, her back to Angel, attempting to wave off someone who wasn't there. A second later, she seemed to realize she was alone. "Liam?" she asked, sounding confused. Her head turned as she began to take in her surroundings. "Okay...this...is _not_ eighteenth century Ireland."

"Try twenty-first century California," said Angel, no longer in his fighting stance. He was, of course, very taken aback by the inexplicable appearance of some strange kid in his office, but judging from her obvious disorientation, he was reasonably sure that she wasn't dangerous.

At the sound of his voice, she jumped and whirled to face him, her long dark ponytail whipping around.

†

When Buffy finally dragged herself back up to her room, every muscle in her body was aching from the sparring tournament. Even though she had won, this victory had been a much more difficult achievement than most. Far from irking her, she found the fact that her fellow Slayers were approaching her level to be an enormous source of pride. Every day they convinced her further that the Cleveland Hellmouth stood no chance against them.

As Willow was normally the first one back to the room, Buffy was slightly surprised to find it empty when she reached it, but she was too exhausted to give the matter much thought. She headed straight for her bed, fully intending to fall on it completely dressed for a good ten hours of rest. These plans were thwarted, however, when all the color in the room inexplicably inverted and the air was filled with loud banging sounds. Her body automatically shifted in preparation for a fight, but her mind hadn't managed to consciously react to what she was seeing and hearing until a dark-haired boy came tumbling out of nowhere and the noises and inverted colors stopped.

Even more astonished than she had been at first, Buffy couldn't do much more than stare. The boy came up to about her shoulders and was wearing a maroon and black kid's league hockey jersey and frayed jeans. Whatever the odd color flash had been, it had clearly taken something out of him, for he promptly collapsed on the carpeted floor. Buffy felt an inexplicable stab of concern for the boy, but after letting out a grunt of discomfort, he was back on his feet. "Kathy, I get to help too!" he said insistently as he got up. From his height and the way his voice sounded, Buffy guessed he couldn't be more than ten or eleven. He looked around, finally turning to face her, an indignant pout across his features.

†

"I've been wanting to ask since we got here, it was just, you know, awkward," said Willow. Oz's eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth pulled up in that slight smile she adored. They had gone back to his apartment after all of the Slayers got in from patrolling. She sat cross-legged on his bed and he sat in his desk chair facing her.

"I kinda got that vibe," he said. Those months had felt like the longest of his life.

"How did you do it?" she asked, leaning forward intently.

"Well, for the first couple of years after I left, I was stuck in the same rut I got myself in back in Sunnydale."

"Something upsetting happens, Oz-wolf smash?" Willow asked with a sympathetic grimace.

"Pretty much. I was going at it all wrong. I was trying to trap the wolf in me. It didn't like that." He shuddered slightly, remembering the times it had gotten out.

"What changed?"

"It's kinda weird. I stopped fighting it and found the whole 'inner balance' thing. I stopped being afraid all the time that the wolf would overpower me and just let it..._be_ a part of me. And then it all came together. I guess the wolf could have been on my side from the beginning, but I just had to let it. So I've got the wolf senses and reflexes full time, plus total control when I transform."

"Wow," said Willow.

"And, actually," he said, also leaning forward, his voice growing softer, "I'm pretty sure that the thing that finally triggered the whole coming together...was playing your song for the first time since I left."

"Really?" she asked, feeling her heart expand almost painfully.

"Really." He left the chair, stretched out a hand to brush against the side of her face, and kissed her. He felt her smile as she kissed him back, and he was happier than he'd been in years. She _was_ his Willow again. The kiss deepened, quickly rivaling intensity of the one Xander had walked in on the other night. However, before this one could get much farther, it too was interrupted. Willow and Oz broke apart in alarm at the sudden series of bangs coming from the space in front of Oz's closet. They drew closer together and stared as the color there flashed the reverse of what it was naturally with every burst of sound. A second later, two people materialized there. They stumbled, but managed not to fall over by quickly seizing each other's arms, then stood up straight and looked around until they caught sight of Willow and Oz, whose shock increased exponentially at the sight of them.

†

Angel's eyes widened. Before him stood a girl who, with the exception of hair and eyes that exactly matched his own in color, was a carbon copy of Buffy at sixteen. Nose, eye shape, lips, height—everything. Even the cross necklace she wore was the one he had given Buffy on their very first meeting. Okay, maybe this kid wasn't so random. Her eyes went as wide as Angel's as she stared back at him.

"Ohhhh crap," she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like a nervous child who was being confronted by her parents with the evidence of her mischief. "I _told_ Liam not to interfere with the spell."

"Who are you?" said Angel, but he had an inkling of the answer already. His right hand shot out to grip his desk for support.

The appeared to recover from some of her initial apprehension, and those dark brown eyes locked with his again. "Kathy," she said. "I'm, uh, I'm your daughter."

"My daughter?" Angel suddenly felt rather grateful that he didn't need to breathe in order to remain conscious. If he did, he would surely have been out cold by now.

"Wait," she said after a moment of silence during which Angel attempted to digest what she'd just told him. She was frowning and staring around at the office, until finally she spotted the company logo on the wall and her gaze shot back to him. "This is the year before you—" But she broke off abruptly, looking very alarmed.

"What?" he asked.

"No, no, no," said Kathy, shaking her head, "I've seen those old _Back to the Future_ movies, so I know how this works. If you know what happens, then it might not." She stamped a boot against the floor. "_Crap!_" In her frustration, the resemblance to Buffy was even more astounding.

Angel ran back over what she had said before in search of something else to say. "Who's Liam?" he asked, fairly certain she hadn't been referring to his past self.

"My kid brother," said Kathy. "I was with Daniel and Tara, and we were trying to do a spell to go back and see what you were like back when you were the strapping Irish lad," she put on a mock brogue for the last phrase and further enunciated it with finger quotes, "and then I could see the aunt you named me after and my grandparents...but Liam butted in and messed it up. I don't know where he and the others went."

"You have a brother?" Angel asked. Everything she had said past that point hadn't made it farther in than his ears.

"Yeah," said Kathy, and the emotions ranging from protective to exasperated on her face told Angel that sibling rivalry was very much a factor in the relationship. "He's almost eleven. I have to find him and get back..."

"And who are Daniel and Tara?" At the mention of these names, Kathy brightened considerably.

"My best friends," she said. "They were doing the spell for my birthday, which was kind of inspired by those _Back to the Future_ movies, actually. But then, with Liam..." She trailed off, looking annoyed again.

"Who are their parents?" Angel asked.

Kathy shot him a shrewd look, clearly debating how much to tell him. Finally, she seemed to decide this wouldn't fall under the umbrella of harmful information. "Mr. and Mrs. Osbourne—I mean," she shook her head, "Oz and Willow." She obviously wasn't used to referring to them that way.

"Oz and Willow? But..._oh_," said Angel. He remembered Wesley mentioning briefly that Oz was in Cleveland, and that he would likely be rejoining the Scoobies as they all endeavored to destroy the Hellmouth. _So they'll work things out in the end_, he thought fondly, _just like Buffy and I will..._ He looked back up at Kathy. His daughter. Named after his long dead sister. And her younger brother, named after his equally long dead self. Fitting. Kathy wore an odd expression.

"Screw it," she said, "I know there are ways of altering memory." She then looked at him with such intensity as to rival his own stare. "You...you're still _here_, working at Wolfram and Hart, so that means you're still a...a vampire, aren't you?"

Angel experienced an uncomfortable mixture of emotions at this. Joy, for her words—not to mention her very existence—meant that his days as one of the undead were limited, and that he would be able to be with Buffy, raise children, and grow old with her like he wanted more than anything. But there was also pain at the slight edge of fear in Kathy's voice. He didn't want her to be afraid of him. "Yes," he answered simply.

She swallowed, and her features set determinedly, before she moved forward until she was an arm's length from him. _His daughter_. He still marveled at the concept. Keeping her eyes on his face, watching him closely for any negative reaction, she reached up a hand and pressed it over the left side of his chest. Her brow furrowed slightly, as if she were willing the heart within to beat the way it was supposed to. After a few seconds, the hand dropped back to her side, and she fidgeted a little. Angel stretched his own hand slowly up and ran his fingertips across her face in awe. She flinched at the coldness of his touch, but did not stop him. "If you already know what I am, and about this place, what else have...your mother and I told you?" he asked, surprised at the sudden hoarseness of his voice.

"Lots," she said, "you never thought it would be a good idea to try to keep me in the dark. You thought lots of bad stuff would come after me when I was little because of who my parents are, just like when Uncle Connor was a baby, and that I'd be better prepared if I at least knew what to expect. You were right, too. So I've always known. So has Liam. You and Mom used to make it like bedtime stories. And then there are the comics Mr. and Mrs. Harris made. You even did the cover art for a few of the issues, and Mom helped write them." She chuckled reminiscently, until her expression abruptly darkened and her jaw clenched.

"What?" he asked.

"No, it's nothing," she said a little too quickly, backing away and smiling again, but he could tell this one was fake by the way it didn't quite get to her eyes. She was just as easy to read as Buffy.

"What?" he repeated.

Her fists clenched convulsively, and she folded her arms and cast her gaze to the floor. She suddenly looked much younger and more vulnerable, and Angel felt an instinctive need to comfort her. Remembering that she had backed away from him, however, he remained where he was. Slowly, she brought her eyes up to meet his again. There was an awful, tortured look in them, as if she had experienced far too much in her short span of years. It made his heart ache. She opened her mouth, then shut it, not knowing where to begin.

"It's all right," he said gently.

"No," she said, "It's really not. I mean, okay, even if you and Mom had never told me anything, I'd know anyway." The vulnerability intensified on her face and her eyes became unfocused as she stared at Angel.

"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling a growing sense of foreboding creep through him even as he was gripped by morbid curiosity.

"I think it must be because I'm a Slayer, like Mom," she said with a humorless laugh, "because I know it never happens to Liam or even Uncle Connor, but—" She gritted her teeth, then breathed in sharply before forcing out what Angel thought she had probably kept locked tight within herself her whole life. "My dreams—they're not like what Slayers normally have. I mean, they're nightmares all right, but they're never about future evil or past Slayers like Mom's or any of the other Slayers'. As far back as I can remember, they've all been a high definition, surround sound tour of...your past. A-angelus's past." Her voice had become very small, while her eyes widened with horror as the most recent of the dreams flashed before them.

The weight of what she had just said hit Angel like a ton of bricks. Everything from that first glimmer of fear to her current state clicked together in his brain, and he realized that the tortured expression she had worn was the same one that had earned him his reputation for brooding. The guilt that was his constant companion seemed to double. This innocent girl, still clearly so much a child, through no fault of her own was haunted by the memories that crushed his very soul whenever he allowed his focus on the present to falter.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. He closed the distance between himself and Kathy and enfolded her in the most comforting embrace he could manage. At first, she shuddered, but that was only a sob escaping despite her bravest efforts. After a few seconds, she wrapped her arms around him tightly as well, and Angel wondered at her ability to separate him from the monster in her nightmares.

†

Buffy had been about to ask the boy what he was doing there and how he had arrived, but her voice died in her throat the instant she saw his face. He was Angel in miniature. Almost. His green eyes found her at last, and the pout instantly vanished, to be replaced by surprised delight. "Mom!" he cried, and he bounded to her and latched his arms around her middle. Buffy staggered—not from the impact, which hadn't been anywhere near forceful enough to unbalance a Slayer, no matter how tired she was; but from the force of that word.

The boy let her go and looked up at her expectantly, the pout back in place. Even in her shock, Buffy could tell this was a technique that generally got him whatever he wanted. "Kathy wasn't gonna let me help do the spell! Tell her she has to let me, Mom!" he said, tugging at her hands.

"K-Kathy?" Buffy managed at last, for it seemed as good a place to start as any. "Who's Kathy?"

The boy looked at her as if she'd gone completely insane and didn't answer.

Buffy tried to gather the pieces of her mind, which seemed to have separated and fled the instant she saw his face. "I'm sorry," she said, swallowing and holding a hand to her head. Perhaps this was a dream. Yes, that was it. She had really made it to her bed, and was now having one hell of a bizarre dream. No sense upsetting her dream son, then, especially as he was a lot more pleasant than what her dreams usually contained. She crouched down slightly so she was at eye level with him. "Look, Mom's really tired and confused right now, sweetie," she said. She was amazed by how natural it felt to talk to him like this.

"Wait," he said, staring harder at her, causing his brow to crinkle adorably, "you look different."

"Different?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Your hair wasn't that long this morning. Did Mrs. Osbourne magic it longer? 'Cause she did that for me when I cut my own hair that one time when I was five."

"Mrs. Osbourne?"

"You must be really, like, _really_, tired, Mom," he snorted. "She's your best friend!"

"Willow?" she said automatically. Then her eyes widened. "Willow _Osbourne?_ As in _Mrs_. Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne?" She thought back and realized it wasn't really all that mind-boggling. Ever since the week before, the two of them had gone from restrained and awkward around each other to practically inseparable. She'd had the story of what happened at headquarters the night her squad fought the Glurggs from both Willow and Xander, though Xander's version had been funnier by far.

"Yeah," said the boy slowly, raising his eyebrows at her. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," said Buffy honestly. "What was the spell Kathy wouldn't let you help with?"

"A spell to go back in time!" he said excitedly. "Daniel and Tara were gonna send us back to when Dad was growing up in Ireland! I wanted to go too because I want to see if I really look as much like he did at my age as he says I do."

"Well," said Buffy, before walking around him to her bed and sinking onto the edge so she would no longer have to worry about the very likely possibility of falling over from shock. "That explains a lot."

"Explains what?" he asked, turning to look at her in puzzlement.

"You _did_ go back in time, just not very far," said Buffy. "'Cause this is two thousand three."

"Cool!" he exclaimed in delight, bouncing up and down. Then he stopped and frowned. "Oh. I guess I did mess it up, then." He scratched his head sheepishly. "Oops."

"Okay," said Buffy, "but since you came back in time, I don't know who you are."

His mouth formed a small "o" of realization, before he smiled broadly. It suddenly struck her how odd it was to see younger versions of the features she knew so well in such an easy, carefree smile. "I'm Liam!" he said, still beaming.

"And who's Kathy? Is she...," Buffy began, blinking back tears as she felt her heart swell. This wasn't a dream. This was her son. The future she'd hoped to have with Angel someday since she was sixteen but thought was impossible was really going to happen—and had, moreover, come back to visit her in person.

"My sister?" he finished for her, nodding.

"And Tara and Daniel?" she prompted, though she had a guess.

"The Osbourne twins," said Liam.

So, thought Buffy, she and Angel would end up having kids, as would Willow and Oz… "What about Xander? Does he have a family?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah!" said Liam brightly. "There's Jesse, who plays hockey with Kathy. He's fifteen. And Anya is ten like me and she's my best friend! But Mr. and Mrs. Harris took them on vacation to Scotland, because that's where Mrs. Harris grew up, and they haven't seen their grandparents since they came to visit a couple of years ago, and I don't think they've even met most of their cousins."

Buffy smiled. If that meant what she thought it meant, then Renée would end up being Mrs. Harris. She and Xander were currently only in the uncertain pre-dating friendship stage, despite Willow's simultaneously encouraging and daunting talk with Renée. Buffy noticed how most of this future generation had been named after lost loved ones. She couldn't think of any better way to honor them. "And…do you have any cousins?" she asked hesitantly, thinking of Dawn.

He nodded vigorously. "Steven and Caroline. They were gonna come over later for Kathy's birthday. Steven is thirteen, and Caroline is nine. Anya and I hang out with them a lot."

"Wow," said Buffy, feeling moisture gathering more insistently in the corners of her eyes. She shook her head slightly and attempted to focus. "Come here, Liam," she told him, her voice cracking a little. He immediately bounded across the room to sit next to her. She ruffled his dark hair, which stuck up just like his father's. He looked up at her brightly. "How old is your sister?" she asked. "What's she like?"

"Today's her sixteenth birthday," said Liam, before frowning. "Well, it _was_, before I went back in time. Uh..."

Buffy laughed at his deeply confused expression.

"She's got the same eyes and hair as Dad, but she looks more like you," he went on. "Sometimes she's really cool and fun, and I like hanging out with her a lot, but other times, like today, she can be bossy and a little bit mean to me."

"I'm sure she just does that because she's being silly and doesn't want to show how much she cares about you," said Buffy, thinking of how she'd acted with Dawn at that age.

"You say that a lot," said Liam, rolling his eyes. "And I know the spell was supposed to be her birthday present, but I'm her brother and I want to see Dad's family just as much as she does, and anyway, I never get to go out demon hunting with her, so—"

"Demon hunting? Kathy's a Slayer?" Buffy interrupted, bewildered.

"Yeah, she has been for a few months," said Liam. He sounded both envious and awed.

"Really?" asked Buffy. For a moment, she felt heartsick at the idea that she would pass her weighty destiny on to her daughter, but then pride even stronger than what she felt for her present-day fellow Slayers swelled to eclipse it. She shook herself again, realizing that she had gotten sidetracked. "I think you should probably go back to your original time," she said. "I'm sure future me is worried about you."

"Yeah. Will you remember not to ground me? I know it'll be a long time to remember, but..." He trailed off, looking hopeful.

Buffy laughed. "Do I ground you a lot?" she asked, inwardly doubting it. The pout alone was so adorable that she thought she might shrivel up. She wanted to hug him forever.

"Only sometimes," he said. Then he smiled again. "Can I just stay here for a while? Mrs. Osbourne'll probably find the stuff we used for the spell and figure everything out and come to get me anyway."

"Of course," said Buffy, whose limbs felt like lead. She would much rather sit and talk to him than try to find a way to get him home just yet. She ran her fingers through his hair again, trying to fight the exhaustion off and prolong the moment.

†

Willow and Oz were staring at a pair of teenagers who could have been them. The only obvious things to distinguish the newly arrived pair from the former two, apart from their age, was that the girl's eyes were blue and the boy's were hazel. The girl wore a purple-sleeved baseball tee, tan cargo pants, and brown sandals. Layered copper-colored hair came down to her chin. The boy's hair was a wild mass of wine-red spikes, and he wore a light blue shirt with a large black Chinese character splashed across the front, brown corduroy pants, and converse sneakers.

"Well. That didn't work," the boy observed lightly.

"No, 'cause this definitely isn't eighteenth century Galway," the girl agreed.

"Uh," said Willow, "you see them too, right?"

"Yeah," said Oz.

"What year is this?" the boy asked.

"Two thousand and three," said Willow automatically.

"Right," said the girl, looking at the boy. "Then we haven't been born yet."

"Fun," he said.

"Who are you?" Willow finally asked. The teenagers exchanged grins, then looked back at Willow and Oz.

"Your kids," they said together.

"Tara Jennifer Osbourne," said the girl with a mock bow.

"And Daniel Rupert Osbourne," the boy finished seamlessly, also bowing.

"Huh," said Oz, glancing at Willow, "I guess that explains the looking like us thing."

"Yeah. Mind if I pass out?" she asked faintly.

Oz put an arm around her to keep her steady. "Okay, I don't really know where to begin, but...tell us about yourselves," he said. Whatever his collected outward appearance said to the contrary, he was entirely as shocked as Willow.

"We're sixteen," they said—again, in effortless unison. This habit alone was already somewhat unsettling.

"Twins?" guessed Willow.

They nodded.

"Both werewolves," said Daniel.

Noticing the startled reactions this triggered, Tara stepped up. "Not dangerous monster ones," she assured them hastily.

"Good to know," said Oz, relieved. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone else having to deal with what he'd gone through during the early years of his lycanthropy—especially not his own kids. Not that he had often imagined in the last few years that he would ever have kids, of course. That sort of domestic fantasy had been rather pointless and depressing when he didn't have Willow by his side.

"Yeah, since we were thirteen. For a while we thought we didn't have it, but turns out Giles was right about it being a puberty thing when it's inherited," said Tara conversationally. Daniel grimaced.

"What about music?" asked Oz.

"You're teaching me to play guitar," said Daniel, holding up his right hand to show off the impressive calluses on his fingertips.

"I like piano better," said Tara. "But we figure he can be the guitarist and I can play keyboard if we ever form a band."

Oz nodded in satisfaction.

"Can you do magic?" asked Willow.

"Yeah," said Daniel. "Only we're not very good at it yet. That's probably why we ended up here—I mean now..." He trailed off, his brows knitting together the same way Oz's often did. "Huh."

"We didn't count on Liam's interference making the whole spell a wild card," Tara added.

"Liam?" asked Oz.

"Oh, right, they don't know," said Daniel as an aside.

"He and Kathy are Buffy and Angel's kids," Tara supplied.

Willow's jaw dropped.

"Nice," said Oz appreciatively.

"Buffy and Angel are gonna end up having kids too?" asked Willow once she recovered from the new shock enough to be properly amazed and delighted.

"Yeah," said Tara. "Kathy's just a couple of months younger than us, and Liam's ten."

"You guys all grow up together?" asked Oz.

Daniel nodded.

"Kathy's been our best friend since before any of us could walk," said Tara brightly.

Willow noticed a curious expression on Daniel's face, but he saw her looking and hastily replaced it with a grin, though he had gone a little red behind the ears. "Hang on," she said, frowning, "do we—I mean, future we—know you're here? Uh. I mean, now?"

"Heh, um, no," said Daniel. He and Tara both shifted guiltily while exchanging uncomfortable glances.

"Know how to get back?" asked Oz.

"Not really," said Tara. "We knew how to get back from the _actual_ destination, but not from here...or, now."

"Want help?" asked Willow, though she immediately wished she hadn't offered. She didn't want them to go yet.

"I don't think it'll be necessary. Mom—I mean," Daniel began, then looked at Willow in confusion, "the two thousand twenty-three you will figure out where—when—we've gone and come back to get us."

"That hurt my brain," Tara muttered.

"Right there with you," Oz agreed.

†

"This is fun. You and Mom have been teaching me martial arts since I was five, but ever since I became a Slayer, usually I only get to do the hardcore sparring with her or Uncle Connor," said Kathy, bending backwards to dodge Angel's fist. "This is different, though, 'cause you're bigger than them."

"How well do you do against Buffy?" he asked, in turn jumping to avoid Kathy's low sweeping kick. This reminded him of that brief happy time almost two years ago when he and Connor had sparred before Holtz poisoned the boy against him.

"I think she lets me win most of the time," she admitted. "Don't you dare do that, by the way." Angel smirked, until she seized his arm unexpectedly and twisted to send him crashing to the floor.

"Ha!" she said triumphantly.

"You sure she just _lets_ you win?" he asked in mild incredulity, pushing himself back to his feet.

"Well, not _easily_, but she just seems like she's holding back most of the time."

"Understandable," said Angel fairly, "I mean, she is your mother."

"Yeah, only I'm not just a kid now, Dad; I'm a Slayer," said Kathy, rolling her eyes.

"Wait, why did you call Connor 'Uncle'?" he asked, remembering.

"Because he's married to Aunt Dawn, and it's less weird to think of him as just my uncle than as also my half-brother," said Kathy, "especially since he's kinda too old to be my brother anyway, and legally he's only my uncle."

Angel stared at her, taken aback yet again.

Noticing this, she smirked and obligingly filled in a few more blanks. "Okay, let's get this over with. Yes, he and Aunt Dawn end up having kids too. Steven Daniel Reilly and Caroline Joyce Reilly. Currently—according to a two thousand twenty-three standpoint, they're thirteen and nine. Fortunately, they weren't going to show up at our house for another couple of hours, so they missed out on the misfire flashback spell. Now, can we please continue with the sparring? I don't know how long it'll be before Mrs. Osbourne comes to take me back and present-day you and Mom ground me for all of eternity."

"Okay, then, you ready for this?" asked Angel, grinning.

"Bring it on," she said, returning the grin. At this point, Angel was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to get his head in the fight as much as she wanted no matter how hard he tried, because not only did he now have the prospect of a family with Buffy to think about, but Connor's kids; his grandkids. Who would also apparently be his niece and nephew. Strange. But, then again, what in his life wasn't?

†

Buffy's chest rose and fell slowly and evenly in time with Liam's. His bouncy energy had proven short-lived, and he had fallen asleep in her arms in less than an hour. She had only just been hanging on to consciousness as it was, and was soon carried off with him. They were so deeply asleep that not even the cacophony and insane colors heralding the arrival of two nearly frantic women could wake them.

"One down," said one of them in relief.

"Three to go," said the second. She paused. "This is weird," she observed, looking down at her twenty years younger self with a grimace. "Nothing like looking at twenty-two-year-old me to make me feel ancient."

"Forty-two isn't ancient," said Willow. Unable to resist a reference to her favorite inappropriately named five-part trilogy, she smirked and added, "It's the meaning of life!" When Buffy gave her a strange look, she hastily changed tact. "Besides, you've managed to stay alive twice as long most of the Slayers before you, so I say it gets you bragging points."

"Thanks, Wil," said Buffy, half appreciative, half exasperated. The younger Buffy stirred, opening her eyes groggily.

"Huh?" she asked thickly, "I wasn't sleeping..."

"I believe you've got someone who belongs to me," said the older Buffy, amused.

"Oh. _Oh!_" the present-day Buffy found herself suddenly wide awake. "Hi...older me...and Willow...," she said. They looked expectantly at her, her older counterpart raising her eyebrows when she continued to gawk, but it was hard to stop. It certainly wasn't every day that Buffy got to see what she'd look like at that age—or, more significantly for her, to see living proof that she would actually survive that long; something that, like having kids, had never really seemed to be in the cards for her since she first became the Slayer. "Right," she laughed awkwardly, finally tearing her eyes away and gently shaking the boy beside her awake. "Liam?"

"Mom?" he asked blearily.

"Yeah, actually," she said.

"Hey, sweetie," said the older Buffy. Liam got up and started towards her.

"Wait," said the younger Buffy in a broken voice. Liam turned and looked at her. She walked to him and hugged him tightly, trying not to cry. Willow and the other Buffy smiled fondly. "Bye Liam."

"Bye," he said, and hugged her back.

"Take care...uh, well," she broke off, laughing, "I guess I'll be taking care of you either way."

He smiled. "Yeah."

She reluctantly let him go, and he walked back to the older Buffy, who took his hand.

"This is real, right?" asked the younger Buffy.

"It will be," her future self replied, before turning to Willow. "Your turn, Wil."

Willow nodded. "Sorry about this," she said, before approaching the younger Buffy and tapping her forehead. She promptly slumped unconscious on the floor. "Hmm…maybe I should have warned her first."

"Warned her about what? That you'd be taking away her memory that she'd have a son? Pfft. She _so_ wouldn't have let you," scoffed Buffy, before stepping forward and lifting her younger self easily back onto the bed. Task completed, she turned back to Liam. "Okay, munchkin, any idea where your sister went?" He shook his head. "Oh boy."

"No, I think I know how this works," said Willow slowly. "If I'm right, I know where we need to go next. Ready?"

"Hang on tight, Liam," said Buffy, gripping Willow's hand with her left and clasping Liam's again with her right.

†

"Um. Nobody's here," Buffy pointed out. Liam, who was both half-asleep and relatively new to the experience of teleporting, wobbled dangerously and almost fell over again, but his mother held him steady.

"That's because it's the living room," Willow explained. "I remember how tiny Oz's bedroom was when he lived here. There'd have been seven people in there. Squishy." Buffy raised her eyebrows and smirked. "Follow me," said Willow loftily, ignoring this. She led the way down a narrow hall, which branched off at the end. She pointed right, from which direction they could hear voices and laughter. She made a face, then knocked on the door. Within seconds, it opened, revealing Oz.

"Uh," he said, looking dazed.

"Pretty much," Willow agreed. "You wouldn't happen to have been entertaining the twins?"

"Gotcha," he said, opening the door wide enough to reveal Tara, Daniel, and the present-day Willow all sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"Who is it, Oz—whoa. It's…me. Older. And…older Buffy...and ridiculously cute small child who looks unnervingly like Angel…hi?" The Willow in the doorway exchanged an amused smile with Buffy.

"Heh," said Tara anxiously. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi Tara, hi Daniel," said Liam sleepily from behind Buffy. Tara waved.

"Hey," said Daniel, but he was looking apprehensively at the Willow in the hall, who gave each of the twins significant glances.

"Are we _very_ grounded?" asked Tara.

"Oh, don't ground them!" said the Willow in the room before her older counterpart could reply. "I mean, they're so adorable and fun..."

"_Mom_," said Daniel, stretching it into two syllables as only teenagers whose parents have just embarrassed them could do. Then he looked back to the Willow in the hall, slightly confused. "I mean, she—you—she has a point."

"Okay, I think they should come with me before everyone has a headache," she said, too amused to maintain a stern expression. The Willow in the room quickly hugged them both before they could go anywhere, and Oz did the same.

"I guess...see you...eventually," he said uncertainly.

"Yeah. Bye, Dad," they said together.

He smiled.

"One more thing, and I'm sorry in advance," said the older Willow. She then proceeded to do the same to Oz and her younger self that she had done to the Buffy back at headquarters. Like her, they immediately collapsed.

"Huh," said Daniel, staring at them.

"Time to get Kathy," said Buffy, her tone ominous.

"Little help, Daniel, honey," said Willow, pointing at Oz, who had fallen in an uncomfortable-looking heap on the floor. The two of them lifted him onto the bed.

"So...I'm sensing a pattern," said Buffy.

"If that pattern is that they're all getting babysat by the two thousand three versions of us, you'd be right," said Willow. "Kathy's in L.A."

"Don't worry about teleporting us to the lobby or anything, then," said Buffy, "Angel's office was—is—enormous." She frowned. "You know, I think it's a little late to avoid headaches."

"Why's Dad in L.A.?" asked Liam in tired disorientation.

†

Kathy slammed across the desk and fell off the other side. "Wow. You're _really_ not holding back," she managed after a moment, getting unsteadily back to her feet.

"You okay?" asked Angel anxiously.

"Hey, no dropping your guard!" she protested. Angel actually laughed. Before she could get him back, however, they were both nearly blinded by a brilliant flash of white light. Angel and Kathy immediately moved together to face whatever was coming, but the light faded to reveal Buffy, Willow, Daniel, Tara, and Liam.

"Hi, Mom," said Kathy, hastily dropping out of her fighting stance and deliberately not making eye contact. Angel's eyes roved across the group before locking on Buffy. He did not fail to observe the gold Claddagh ring glinting from her left ring finger.

"It won't be long," she told him softly, noticing where his gaze had lingered.

He smiled at her.

"Hi, Dad!" said Liam, waving.

Angel's smile broadened as he looked at the boy.

"Kathy," said Buffy imperiously.

"Right," she said. She turned to Angel. "Awesome fight, Dad. Thanks."

"The demons don't stand a chance against you," he said. They hugged tightly, and Kathy went to stand with the others.

"Now it's your turn to forget," said Buffy, shooting him an ironic look. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her meaning, but then, heart sinking, he nodded in resignation.

"Uh, you might want to sit down first," Willow advised, so he walked over and sat heavily on the sofa.

"Bye," said Kathy.

Then Willow had pressed her fingers to his forehead, and he slumped over. "A time travel spell? Really?" she asked the twins sternly as she rounded on them.

Daniel and Tara shrank back slightly.

"How did you figure it out?"

They blinked at the unexpected question. "Well, it's a simple enough concept," Daniel began hesitantly.

"Yeah," said Tara. "If you look at time and space as axes of a single plane, then we move on it in a series of diagonal lines."

"And if space is _x_ and time is_ y_, then teleportation constitutes a direct horizontal jump, because it takes no time to move to a different place," said Daniel.

Buffy and Kathy exchanged baffled glances, while Liam yawned hugely.

"And time travel would be a vertical jump," said Tara. "Therefore, since we know teleportation is magically possible, why not time travel?"

"You just have to be able to work the magic to do it, and exactly calculate your destination relative to both time and space," said Daniel.

"And it helps if you get to complete the spell one hundred percent before letting it take effect, otherwise apparently you could end up anywhere—and any_when_—between when you meant to go and when you started off," finished Tara.

Willow nodded thoughtfully, but then she remembered that she was supposed to be scolding them. "Well, just because your first complex application of magic to temporal physics went more or less smoothly doesn't mean you get to try it _ever_ again," she said.

They nodded hastily, though they were secretly pleased at the pride their mother was obviously struggling to conceal.

"Xander'll be glad he took his crew abroad this summer," said Buffy.

"When are they getting back?" asked Liam hopefully.

"Two weeks," said Willow.

"Will we be allowed out of our rooms by then?" asked Kathy.

Buffy laughed. "We'll see," she said, her tone revealing nothing. Moments later, Willow and the twins had succeeded together in reversing the spell, and with a final blast of sound and inverted colors, the whole group vanished, leaving the sleeping Angel alone in his office.

* * *

Author commentary! So, understand why I saved this for last now? I couldn't just give away that eight of the characters we know and love would survive the final battle before it was even written, could I? Not to mention that they'd end up in the kind of lasting, functional marriages which are unheard of in the Buffyverse. *snort* But anyway, now you've met the kids. I wish I'd had the opportunity to use Jesse here, but since Xander and Renée have only known each other a month, I thought that meeting their future kid would have been a lot weirder of a situation than it would have been for Buffy, Angel, Willow, and Oz. Right, so, the opening with Giles training newbie Kris. I meant her to be the one we saw in "Chosen", who was up to bat as she got called. By the way, Miko was the Asian girl who was eating dinner with her family from that same montage of random girls getting called all over. Forgot to mention that before. Anyway, had fun with Xander ogling the sparring Slayers. Regrettably, though I managed to put him and Giles into the opener, I failed to include an actual scene with Dawn this episode. At least you still learned about her kids. Steven Daniel Reilly—named after what Holtz renamed Connor when he was growing up in Quor-Toth (I thought Connor would probably still have a sentimental connection to the name) and Holtz himself (whose first name was Daniel). The guy may have been an embittered, vengeance-crazed vigilante, but you've got to give him points for protecting and raising his mortal enemy's son in "the darkest of the dark worlds", right? And Caroline Joyce Reilly. Obvious where her middle name came from, and her first name was the name of Holtz's wife. Also, it's a pretty name. Oh, and Jesse's full name is Jesse Lavelle Harris. He got Xander's silly middle name, and the first name Jesse from Willow and Xander's BEST FRIEND who died in the second episode and was never mentioned again. Does that make sense to you? Because it seems absurd to me. So I named Xander's firstborn after him. And then Anya. Her full name, of course, is Anya Christina Emanuella Harris. I really shouldn't have to explain why. While I'm still on the names subject, I intentionally left out Kathy's and Liam's middle names, because this episode, like I mentioned before, was concurrent with "Smile Time". Their middle names are Winifred and Wesley. The original bearers of which names were still alive during "Smile Time". Continuing with the actual commentary, though, enter Kathy. I figured that any daughter of Buffy's (now that anyone who can be a Slayer will be one) would have to be a Slayer too, but how could I shake things up a bit? Why, by tormenting her with nightmares of her father's past, of course. Yes, I'm a horrible person. Talk about emotional baggage. I love her interaction with Angel. Liam! I based his personality (right down to the failed self-given haircut) off my youngest brother, who is a complete dork, but I love him to death. Daniel and Tara. Those two are endlessly fun to write. Especially the last scene when they seamlessly tag-team explain their spacetime defying spell to future Willow. Synchronized geniusing! Haha. When they've got two quirky geniuses for parents, what else would you expect?

Thanks for sticking this thing through all twenty-two episodes. Endless thanks to the reviewers, and to anyone who's added this to their alerts and favorites. There's no way I could have finished it without your support and encouragement. And now, on to "Season 9" with you!


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